


The World That Forgot Tony Stark

by shinkonokokoro



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, trigger warning: captivity, trigger warning: experimentation, trigger warning: human rights violation, trigger warning: isolation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Tony hates magic. And it's a good one. He's never been so glad for the fanfare his name has caused. Because it means the world knows him. Unlike this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what trigger warnings to put on this, but I feel there should be some. Tony held captive, scientific experimentation, some PSTD reaction, reckless abandon.  
> Hopefully that covers it, if you read this and find something that you think I should warn for, please let me know and I'll add it.

Tony has just enough time to think, 'Fuck magic' as the sensation washes over him, he glows in his lab and then passes out.

He sighs as he wakes, rubbing his temples because _hello headache_. Looking around it's pretty easy to see that he's no longer in his workshop. Except that he is. In Avengers Mansion. It's just not his workshop. The room is the same room, but none of his equipment is there. There are tables and work-benches, but they're all covered in throw cloths to keep the dust off. All of this is Howard's old stuff. If this is time travel...

Tony gets up and calls out, "Jarvis?" He's disappointed when there's no answer. Not surprised. But disappointed. Making his way upstairs, everything is covered in old drop cloths. He frowns, wondering if maybe he's fallen into some other world again. But before that can clutter up his head with unwanted thoughts, he leaves Avengers Mansion and hails a cab to take him to one of the entrances to a SHIELD facility.

Tony doesn't have his wallet to pay the guy so he waves a hand and says, "Foot the bill to Stark Industries."

The cabbie looks at his like he's crazy. "To what?"

"Stark Industries? Ever heard of it? Major company in electronics and green energy? Seriously?" Now he knows something is wrong. Stark is, he's proud to say, a household name to pretty much everybody. "Fine. Pepper Potts. She's good for it. I'll pay her back later. Listen, buddy, I've got the funds. I'm not trying to pull one over on you."

The cabbie just looks at him stonily and waits.

"Fine. My watch? Very expensive. Tissot. Real deal. Take it." Tony holds it out to the guy who accepts it suspiciously. "We good now?"

The cabbie mutters something positive sounding so Tony gets out and heads into the building. His codes work to get him in towards Fury's office. Well. Far enough before he has to resort to higher-clearanced codes to advance. In retrospect, that's probably what got him caught: using Fury's codes.

Not one of his wisest life decisions, he muses as grunts drag him to a holding cell. Fury must be mad him for that stunt last week with the dating ad. The man needs a life!

Well, the whole thing is funny until the SHIELD grunts ask him who he is.

"Wait, you're kidding, right? How long have you kids worked here? A day? I'm Tony Stark. Iron man?"

They give him blank unimpressed stares.

"Jesus! Okay. Let me talk to Fury. Coulson? Hill?"

The kids give each other more uncomfortable looks.

Well shit. He may as well go for broke. "What about Cap? Uh, Steve Rogers? Natasha Romanov? These names mean anything to you squirts?" Tony jangles the handcuffs against the uncomfortable chair—damn he'd tell an inquisitor anything just to get out of this chair. Except for the fact that he wouldn't. But whatever. He rolls his eyes as they bend their heads together and whisper back and forth a minute. Then they leave. He sighs and looks up to where the cameras are. "Okay, Fury, this isn't funny anymore. Get your point about—actually I don't get your point; I don't know what you're trying to prove here. Except for maybe, yes, you can make my life more miserable than I can make yours. Can we end this charade, because I've never been very good at that game, and I don't like things I'm not good at. Which I think we covered when you had Coulson organise that team bonding triathlon hell. Because that was hell. I hope you know. It was—Hill! Thank God!" He breathes as she enters. Except her face doesn't soften the way it usually does when he's in trouble. And her eyes are hard in a way that's usually reserved for enemy numero uno. Tony decides if he never sees that look again, pointed in his direction, it will be too soon. "Hill?"

She shuts the door behind her and leans against it. "How did you get in?"

"Uh... Is this a trick question?"

"Answer it!" She barks.

"I used my codes."

"You don’t have codes."

"Uh, yes I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"No you don't."

It still makes him happy that he can wind her up, even if the rest of his world isn’t making a whole lot of sense right now. "Do you really not know who I am?"

"You're not Howard Stark's son."

"Um...so as much as I wish that were true, I am."

"That's impossible," she counters flatly. She always looks so gleeful when telling someone they're wrong. Something about the eyes.

"Well here I am!" he says quickly, before she can give him the bad news. Does he look like someone else? He didn't catch a reflective surface on his way over. Maybe he doesn’t look like himself. Nope. He’s him. His rough fingers that feel like his fingers. His clothes. His shoes. His feet.

"Howard Stark never had children.."

"What?" It comes out altogether more stunned and breathless than he would have wanted, if he'd had a chance to analyse his response.

"Well he did have a son. But he was born stillborn. And you're not in any of our databases. Wanna tell me how you managed that?"

But the world goes a bit fuzzy there for a moment, and he's not sure he can breathe. Because what does it mean? That he's in an alternate universe? Where he was never born? Where he doesn't exist? But then how did his codes work? This doesn’t make sense.

"I asked you a question."

"Sorry," he croaked. "Bit of an existential crisis right here... You see, because I’m Tony Stark. Anthony Edward Stark."

"Sir, I don’t know how you managed to get in here but this is a gross trespassing violation."

"No you don’t understand! I am a member of the Avengers! I'm Iron Man! I work with Cap and Thor and all the others!"

"Sir, I'm not sure how you got your information, but I'm going to have to ask you to—"

"Okay, you know what? I'm done. Let me out. I don’t know what's going on here, because _something_ is going on here, but let me out, we'll talk to Fury, and get this figured out. I'm on your side, Hill!" he half-pleads, half-orders.

This doesn't get him anything except for arrested, because Hill's power-trippy like that.

He sighs as he's bundled into a cell and left there for a week. After the first two hours, he figures that they think he's crazy. So he stops insisting that he's Tony Stark. He also figures out that he doesn't exist. Tony Stark never existed in this world because he didn’t live. His fingers itched for a phone, his tablet, anything that he could tinker with. Because he's going crazy just sitting here. His hands still bound, he couldn’t really do anything at all. "Hey! Wanna at least let my hands free! I won’t do anything. Can't really. You see me. I'm stuck here. You've caught me!" Tony shouted at them for several hours off and on, settling for banging his head against the bars of the cell. Because he wasn’t suspected as a superhuman, they gave him a cell that only had adamantium-reinforced bars. He should know. He designed the damn thing. Had gotten Fury the materials himself.

After two days of being bored out of his mind, they finally relent and at least give him a pad of paper. By the end of the week, he's designed all sorts of things. All plans incomplete, of course, so no one could build it but him.

Then they take him to a room and chain him to the uncomfortable chair. "So now what? Is it my lucky day?"

"Who are you?" Fury asks as he enters.

"Fury! Glad to see me?" Tony twists to see his face. "But of course, you don’t know me because I apparently don’t exist in this world. I might have been transported to this universe from my own. But you should be able to test my DNA, right? Compare it to my dad's?"

"Howard Stark is dead," Fury says flatly.

"Oh." Tony blinks. "Guess he was always destined to die young, huh... Car crash?"

"No."

"No? What happened?" Tony leans forward.

"Workshop fire. There was nothing salvageable, at the time." Fury watches him carefully.

"Oh," he says again, for lack of anything else to say. "Fuck! Obadiah was behind it, wasn’t he! That—"

"It was ruled an accident."

Tony looks at Fury, really looks. "Do you believe me? Do you believe I am who I say I am?"

"I believe you believe it," Fury says simply.

“Fuck..." Tony groans. "You think I'm crazy too!"

Fury grins, more of a sharp-toothed baring of teeth than an expression of merriment. “Sir, I think you’re all sorts of crazy, walking into a SHIELD facility with no credentials, no forms of ID, no match on a fingerprint scan, no history, no _record_ of existing. So yes, I think you’re fucking crazy. But I also think you’re smart fucking crazy, so this presents a problem for me.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you. I’m from another universe. Surely you guys have encountered other universes, right? Or are there no Avengers? _Shit_! You guys probably never found Steve if Dad died young, right? Captain America? _Shit. Fuck._ **”** Now his world kind of drops out from beneath him. “I can’t... I can show you where to find him!”

Fury just looks at him. “Okay...”

“No really. I promise. I’ll take you to Captain America. He’s still alive.”

“Sir, Captain America was a war hero of the 1940s. There is no way in hell that he would still be alive. Considering he was on an aircraft that went down over the Arctic.”

“He _is_! Just let me prove it!” Tony says desperately. “I’m not crazy. My codes work because I’m a member of the Avengers.”

“Mm hm.”

“You know? Super hero team? A response team, you called it. We defend the earth from alien attacks and bad guys? _Jesus_ , Fury!” He groans and drops his head back. “Tell me it’s at least within the realm of probability of being true. It’s all _possible_ , right?”

Fury stares at him some more. “Who are you?”

“Anthony Edward Stark. Didn’t Maria brief you?” Fuck, he's starting to babble. “Coulson! The first time I met Coulson, he threatened to taze me and watch me drool while he watched Supernanny on my big-screen!”

Fury’s lips twitch. Then settle sternly. “How do you know so much about our facility?”

“Because I helped _build_ it! I _built_ the helicarrier! I don’t know how it’s here or who designed it if I didn’t—”

“Howard Stark.”

“Great,” he snaps wryly. “Good old Dad.”

“Except his son was born stillborn.”

“So Hill told me.”

“What’s in your chest?”

Shit. Tony hunches unconsciously. “It’s mine.”

“Did I ask whose? What is it?”

“Pacemaker.”

Fury levels his eye on Tony, unimpressed. “I have never seen a pacemaker like that.”

“It keeps my heart going. Hence, pacemaker.”

“Uh-huh. You’re gonna tell me more about that.”

“Didn’t work the first time, Fury, won’t work the second.”

“Either you can tell me, or I have my people take it and figure out what it does.”

Tony snarls. “It’s an arc reactor. I made it. It keeps shrapnel out of my heart. You take it I die.”

They settle into a staring impasse.

“Anyone looking for you?”

“Well, I don’t exist,” he snaps, “so I guess not!”

Fury grins at him again.

Tony doesn’t like it.

Fury leaves and Tony’s taken back to his little home base. They gather up his drawings, surprise stab him with needles, and then the world goes fuzzy. He has just enough time to swear again, cursing SHIELD and their...


	2. Chapter 2

When Tony wakes again, this time he’s in a room with white padded walls. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously!” he shouts. “A _mental_ ward! I do _not_ belong in a crazy ward, Fury!” He stomps about his little room for a while, already feeling the walls closing in. This is Not Good. This is Not Good of epic proportions that Tony’s only known in movies. Or end-of-the-world missions. Because frankly, those are worse than movies. “Hey! Can I get some attention in here!” He shouts for another ten minutes before an orderly comes around and opens the little window in the door.

“Sir, I need you to calm down.”

“Fuck you.” He takes a deep breath, realising that might not be the best course of action. So he turns on the Stark Charm. “Sorry. That was inappropriate. I’d like a few things.” He smiles at her.

She frowns slightly, looking like she’s not quite sure what to do.

“Listen. I’m not supposed to be here. And I’m sure you hear that from a lot of people, but I’m really not. My name is Tony Stark. I’m a genius. I can prove it. Give me an IQ test, give me whatever other tests you want for me to prove that I’m a sane human being. Can we do that?” He gives her another smile, earnest, the one that gets him out of trouble with Pepper on good days, and _always_ gets him out of trouble with Steve.

“Listen, sir, I’ll have to—”

“Okay. Enough with the ‘sir.’ You can call me Tony. I’m fine with that. And I’m sure you’ll need to talk to your superiors and all that. That’s fine. I can wait.” He smirks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She titters a bit and then nods.

“And before you go, could I get some paper and a pencil? Pen? Anything. I’m dead bored in here.”

“Uh...sure.”

So he waits. She returns with a sketch pad and a dulled pencil. Tony sighs but won’t look the gift horse in the mouth, as they say.

He waits until tomorrow when they _surprisingly_ do administer the IQ test. He, unsurprisingly, measures in at 267. Dammit, he wanted 268. Or 270. Even numbers. Oh well. They seem surprised by this, but then move along. The genius IQ seems enough to treat him with more care. And since he comports himself as a gentleman, he gains more freedoms.

Which he takes advantage of for a week before he escapes.

He steals some clothes out of a locker and gets out, firstly going to a library. And he learns a whole hell of a lot at the library. Stark Industries doesn’t exist. It’s Stane International. His father died in a workshop fire, as Fury had said. His mother had survived the fire, but her health was ruined and she died four years later. Their money was left to charities and a scholarship funds, with no surviving son. And some of it, of course, went to Stane. He swore. There was no record, no evidence of him anywhere. Tony Stark didn’t exist. Howard’s still-born son had been named ‘Anthony’ posthumously, and that is the name that was put on the gravestone. But Tony doesn’t exist.

He is proud of himself that he allows himself only a small existential crisis. Again. But he gets over it.

And then hacks the SHIELD mainframe. Tasha, Clint, and Coulson are all on payroll. Bruce is nowhere on the map. Lost to the jungles of India or something, Tony assumes. Thor is on payroll in that he is listed as a transient SHIELD member, and sometimes teams up with Tasha and Clint to play the heavy-hitter. And Steve... Cap doesn't exist either. Because with Howard's death, the expeditions didn't continue. Since the Stark fortune went to other greedy sources. Tony swears and almost gets himself kicked out of the library. He looks up Rhodey and Pepper, neither of whom are where he would have expected them. Well, Rhodey is. Military. On tour in Afghanistan. Pepper is a legal counsel person or something like that. In Chicago. He groans. Not like it matters, because it is unlikely either of them would willingly help Tony out if they don't know him...

Who else does he know in New York...? There's Jan. He could play it off like they met one time at a party. It had happened in the past; they ran in similar social circles once.

He looks down at his clothing. Snorts. Uh-huh. Right.

Tony logs off the public computer and leaves the library to merge into the traffic on the street. They'll be looking for him really soon, he assumes. He picks up a baseball cap from a stranger's back pocket and ducks down a side street towards... Well he doesn't really know where he's going, does he...?

He eventually makes it to an old part of Brooklyn. Steve had lived there for a while. Tony takes a short break on the stoop of the apartment complex while he contemplates and dismisses plans A, C, D, E, G, H, J, and P.

Oh. Richards. Of course.

Tony bounces up and heads to the Fantastic Four's building. It gets late, however, and Tony thinks it more safe to find a spot and stay put rather than continue walking. So he does. Wishes for his phone and few comforts of home, but he takes what he can get and manages a few hours of sleep, he thinks.

When Tony wakes, it's to sirens. He jerks out of the already uneasy sleep and resettles the cap over his head, a jolt going through him at the thought of Steve. Tony orients himself, wishing again for the ease and convenience of his phone. GPS was so convenient.

He's cursing the shoes as they rub his heels raw. Been a while since Tony Stark had shoes that didn't fit. Or of a brand that cost him less than five hundred dollars.

For a while, Tony is convinced that there's a car tailing him, but then it disappears around a corner and he breathes a little easier. He's pretty sure Reed would be receptive to the idea that there are other realities out there—has probably even visited a few himself. The Fantastic Four do weird shit like that.

The building looms at him when he's four blocks away. His scalp also itches like there are eyes on it in a way that he hasn't experienced since that incident in Fresno with the damn ninjas. He hurries faster, lengthening his stride but trying not to look like he's running.

Shit. Okay. Screw that. He's running. Like that scene in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the Fantastic Four's building is his sanctuary. Why, he'll never guess, but Richards always appreciated an oddity...

Turns out he was right to be paranoid. He’s confronted by SHIELD goons two blocks from the building. And before he has time to....

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Tony Stark will tell you this much. He is sick to fucking death of being knocked out. Each time he wakes up, the reality is grimmer and less fun. Why the fuck did they catch him. He's Tony Stark.

He rolls onto his stomach to ease the pressure on his shoulders, straining in the straight-jacket. "Was this fucking necessary!" he bellows for good measure. It always seems to be the question of the moment.

It _was_ pretty inevitable that he would be captured again. What had he been thinking? He had little-to-no resources. He wonders if they had put a tracker on him. He swears again and then squirms into a sitting position. He breathes evenly and then levers himself to his feet. "This sucks! I hope you know! I'm Tony Stark! I'm a real person!" He turns until he can see the red blinking light of the camera and snarls at it. Whoops. Now they really _will_ think he's crazy. Tony pauses, grins. Maybe that's not such a bad thing...

He feels a little embarrassed at first, screaming at the camera, obscenities, mathematical formulas, banging his head against the wall. He hopes that they wipe their tape. This shit sucks. Tony mashes his face in his food. Once. Because then they spray-wash him down. He freezes and can't move, even when they order him to. His limbs lock up, and he starts shaking from the stress of it. They get him back to his room, all bundled up in the white coat of crazy. He stays on the floor and doesn't eat for two and a half days.

Guess he isn’t as over forced showers as he thought he was.

And he doesn’t care, because it will just make them think he's crazier than he really is. And Tony's not beyond using means to get to an end. They had taken him through some halls that could have provided him some information, so he buckles down four weeks later and pisses himself. His face burns with embarrassment, but he lets himself get dragged, feigning serenity, down the hall to the showers. There are other patients, of course, some more lucid than others. Some of them have guards by their cells. They all have charts, however. And there seems to be some colour coding on the charts. The patients who display more lucidity and extreme ranges of behaviour: sluggishness and mania tend to have orange coded charts. The ones who seem more doll-like in their abilities are coded in green. Tony's chart had been coded orange. He is also dragged past a hallway which looks like it has more security requirements than all the others. Two scan cards, a palm reader, and physical key locks.

They arrive at the showers. He shudders. "I'll do it," he rasps.

"Tony," one of the orderlies says. They'd begun calling him Tony when they found out that was the only name he would respond to. "We'll wash you."

“No, you won't," he insists. He stares them down, giving them his best level boardroom. "I will do it myself. I will wash myself. I don’t want your help. I can do it on my own," he says, as if they were small children.

The two orderlies exchange glances and then one shrugs and they get him out of the straight-jacket and strip him naked. Herding him into the shower, they watch carefully as he washes himself. It's humiliating, but it had been worth it, he thinks. They're clearly classifying these people. He suspects many of them are homeless. Or at least some of them are. People who would not likely be missed. And being a man that does not exist, Tony Stark would not be missed. He shudders under the water, soaping his hair. It's out of control. He hasn’t had it cut since he arrived in this fucked universe. And of course they wouldn’t let him near a razor, so he is now sporting a rather unfortunate beard. He _hates_ himself in a beard. At least he has some pretty impressive abs, what with levering himself upright all the time.

And since he's had nothing to do to take up his time, Tony has mentally constructed no less than two new suits, five upgrades for Jarvis, a completely new helicarrier (not that he's looking too kindly on Fury right now, but still. The thing needed an upgrade.), and two new sets of weapons for the avengers. And a more efficient, easily-reproduced car, a new phone, a better satellite, and a mental reminder to fire Oscar from R&D. He was an idiot.

"Alright, Tony. Let's get you dried off, okay?" The orderly, Matt, says in patient calming tones. Tony wants to punch his face in.

"Can I please stay out of the straight-jacket? I'd like use of my arms. I'd like to be able to draw please."

“Tony, you know we can’t make those decisions.”

He sighs. “Then please talk to someone who can. Seeing as I never got too many hugs in the first place, I’m kind of tired of hugging myself.”

"Of course, Tony," the Matt orderly says with a small smile. Good to know they still find him at least some sort of charming. "We'll talk to the head guy about it.”

"Great," he mutters back. "Just... You know. Getting kind of bored here. Mind like mine and all that. I get kind of stir-crazy when I don't have anything to work on. You know?" He gives them a hopeful smile, towelling himself off after his shower. Dave moves in to help, but Tony waves him off. "It's almost like royalty. Can't do anything without someone watching. Dated a princess for a while. Okay a short while." He's okay with telling them secrets he was supposed to keep under wraps for the good of important people and all that, because they don't believe him anyway, so what point is there? He’s not real. It's easier than making up lies. "It was more like only two days because then the queen found out and threatened to disown the princess if she didn't break up with me. I wasn't heartbroken. We did have some fun though."

"You sure get around, Tony," David teases, taking the towel from him.

"Used to," he corrects. "Before Steve I used to."

They exchange a glance, and Tony can't help the private grin. Let them think on _that._

"I do pretty well with Steve. He keeps me in line. Nothing creepy gentlemen. He's my foil. My anchor. I miss him pretty badly right now." Tony steps into the pants they hand to him. "Captain America. That's who Steve is when he's not Steve. Bet you guys think I'm _really_ crazy now. It's fine." He sighs as they wrap the straight-jacket back around him. "Oh fun. More hugging." They walk him back to his cell, chatting about what's going on in the world. The Giants won their latest game. Gas prices are still in the toilet. (Tony could fix that by the way...) Aren't the president's kids cute? There's a new burger place—

"Oh God, please bring me a burger," Tony pleads. "Please. I will do anything you want. Like anything, boys. I haven't had a good burger in...Fuck more than four months!"

"Tony," Dave says gently.

"Don't say it," Tony says through grit teeth. "I don't want to hear it. I'm reaching my limit of being able to take this crap. The food is cardboard. Shit, there's no music, there's nothing to do. And if I weren't a recovering alcoholic, I'd really like a drink."

"You're pretty chatty today, Tony." Matt says, unlocking his room.

Tony sighs. "Guys. I'm a dude who likes to hear his own voice, but even I get tired of talking to myself..." He steps into his room, the same blank walls, round edged bed. “Just let me know about the whole straight-jacket thing, yeah? Sneak me a good juicy burger if you can too.” He throws them a winning smile that has got him out of more than one bad interview. It drops off his face as soon as Matt and David lock his door and leave. Let them think he’s a psychopath. Let them think he’s crazy. He walks around his room in patterns and even configurations. As long as they think he’s harmless— _smart_ harmless, then he’s good. Because Tony Stark isn’t going to stay in a crazy ward forever. Tony Stark has plans. And they involve getting back to his own world and to Steve. And if it means he has to play the long game to get it, then so be it. Tony Stark can be a crazy madman who likes hamburgers and doesn’t want to hug himself anymore.

Tony had been in this particular facility for a while now. If he’s counting correctly, he’d say forty nine days. But he’d allow himself some lee-way and give a range of forty-seven to fifty-two. Since he had no windows and no clock by which to judge. A long time. He’s had no visitors that aren’t medical staff of the facility. No Fury. No Natasha. No Steve. His heart aches a moment before he brushes it away. No Pepper or Rhodey, of course. Every week he has a meeting with a psychiatrist, and every week he says nothing. She watches him for an hour, both of them sitting in practised silence, appraising, judging, monitoring. At the end of every hour, she smiles and rises to knock on the door so he can be collected and says, “Thank you, Tony.”

Every time it gives him a bit of the heebie-jeebies. At least they don’t have psychics. That he knows of. Well. They can't. Because if they did, they'd have him locked down _much_ tighter than this.

He flops on his bed. He wonders if the X-Men are a factor in this universe. Good old Chuck and Jeannie. He snorts and rolls into a comfortable position.

Sometimes the woman shows him news articles. Sometimes it’s things about Howard. Sometimes it’s nothing at all important. Just some good Samaritan in the park. He never gives her a reaction. Steel wall. That’s what Tony is. Iron Man. He grins. He closes his eyes and scritches a finger against the inside of the fabric and, despite his damp hair, tries to nap. He thinks it’s been a while since he’s slept. They could probably tell him if he asked.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony is released from his straight-jacket two days later. He’s given a tablet that he can draw and write on. No stylus. So no precision work. But he suspects that the tablet is connected to some network of theirs so they can keep track of everything he does on it. It doesn’t have internet or wifi. He grins. They never should have given him a piece of technology. He manages to swipe one of the orderly’s pens. He also gets his hands on some loose change, a small spring, three sticks of gum, and a spoon. Forget McGuyver. He’s way better than McGuyver. Cave. Iron Man Mark 1. Scraps. Dying. Yeah. That was all Tony Stark.

He doesn't have all of the plan worked out yet, but he's getting there. This place is a bit more complex from which to plan an escape. Especially when he’s working on his own. Anyway, the better behaved he is, the more amenities he gets. Since he's very good for the next month (despite the fact that he"accidentally" broke his tablet (he needed parts, what?), he gets a new tablet and an mp3 player (it's shit because it's not StarkTech) to fill the hours. Tony hides the stolen pieces of stuff in a corner, waiting for his window of opportunity. He can't get the door open yet, and Matt and David never let him get close enough to lift their key card. Not like they wouldn't immediately search him and his room and take everything he has acquired so far. So that was a no-go. He does need a way into that protected hallway. 

Tony starts throwing his blanket over the camera at inconsistent intervals. The first time he does it, he expects the company, so when people rush to his room, he’s stripped himself and lies face up, naked, feet away from the door. When they ask him why, he tells them he felt like being naked and didn’t want anyone to see him. Let’s face it. It’s not the worst thing he’s done.

It is fortunate for him then, that eighteen days later, the protected hallway is exactly where they take him.

Of course, Tony, with Tony’s recent upgrade in paranoia, he really only thinks it's a bad sign. 

“So... Where are we going, boys?” Tony asks Matt and David who escort him through the doors. 

Matt just smiles and doesn't say anything. 

"David?" Tony says. He's not going to lie to himself; he's nervous. 

They're swiped through the door, and Tony is taken to a room where they draw blood and do a pretty standard physical. He can't remember the last time he had a physical. 

Then they take him back. 

But not before he sees some equipment that doesn't speak to simple blood tests. He knows, then, that there's definitely more to this place than meets the eye. Tony plays docile, wheedling information out of Matt and David. They don’t give him anything save for platitudes and make-nice comments meant to ease his mind if he really were crazy. But since he’s not, it doesn’t exactly do anything to ease his mind. And now they have his blood. 

Back in his room, Tony runs the possibilities. Evil faction? Doesn’t seem like it. But appearances can be, and often are, deceiving. The likelihood of that, considering he was handed over by SHIELD, is slim, however. Aliens is also slim. For the same reasons. Unless they were pulling one over on Fury. And if they were doing that, well then, hey. Props to them, and he deserved to be here, stuck. Of course, the most depressing thing is that these people are just doing what they think is right. Which is Tony’s least favourite option. Also the most likely. He throws a fit after putting the blanket over the camera, and they leave him alone for a few hours. He gets out his pieces and huddles in the corner to work on some sort of machine that will let him contact the outside world. He’s working on figuring out who he’s going to contact. Because he doesn’t want to think about the possibility that there’s no one. That he doesn’t have a single living soul who would devote their time and energy seeing Tony Stark freed of a mental institution. They’re all in an alternate reality. 

The thought, in the few moments when it really sinks in and he lets himself feel it, is a harrowing one. 

So he doesn’t. Because it doesn’t do him any good, does it. It’s not going to get him out, so why should he think about it. 

Tony only has about a day before they come back for him. “So what was all that about? I assume this has to do with the blood-tests?” he says as they bring him back towards the locked door.

“Relax, Tony. You always get so worked up,” Matt says with a laugh.

He refrains from asking, 'Can you blame me?' They bring Tony into a different room from last time. He freezes when he sees the table, the medical equipment, and the straps. Barks a nervous laugh. “Are you kidding—? _Experiments_? You’ve got to be kidding me!” He pulls against Matt and David, pulling one of the disentanglement moves that Steve had taught him. “You are _not_ experimenting on me! I was trained by Happy Hogan and Steve Rogers! And there is no way—” He jerks as a needle jabs him in the arm from behind. “You know what! Fuck you and your...your...dr...dr...ugs...”

He wakes on the table. Cracks an eye, tries not to panic at the sight of doctors in med coats with masks and vials and the IV in his arm.

“Serum prepared,” one of the people says.

Serum? What the hell are they doing here? He clenches a hand. The bonds are tight. And feel tighter the more he thinks about it. Panics. He can’t help it. He’s tied down on a table and they’re going to do something to him. He struggles. Flails. Yells. Swears. Threatens. Jerks. Screams.

“Get a sedative in here! Jesus, we need him out. He’s the best candidate!” One of the doctors or scientists say.

“You let me out of here right now! Or I swear! So help me! I’ll tear you down! I’ll tear you all apart!” Tony screams.

“Put him out! For God’s sake! Put him out!”

“I’ll get you all!” he yells through grit teeth as fire burns through his arm and he sags out of reality.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The next time he wakes, he feels dead. Though he thinks that through and realises if he were dead, he probably wouldn’t be feeling pain. So he theorises that he’s probably not dead. He only wishes it. Everything hurts and his mouth is fuzzy and his head feels reminds him of The Great Hangover of ‘92. He blinks, vision fuzzy, refocusing several times before he can pick out anything distinct in the room.

“I think he’s awake...” he hears faintly.

His ears are ringing. Not a good sign. But he’s alive. Good sign. Looks like a list of pros and cons are in order. He refrains from groaning aloud. He won’t give them that satisfaction. He does groan however, when his vision swims and his ears ring louder and he can’t think for all the things going on in his brain. He arches up off the bed and hears screaming that could only be him. Then the world blacks out.

When he wakes again, it’s a more immediate transition from dead-to-the-world to hey-I’m-alive. Then his brain feels flooded. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on breathing. The heart monitor beeps loudly; he wishes it would shut up. Miraculously, it does. Tony breathes. In. Out. In. Out.

When he feels in control enough, he opens his eyes. The lights are dim in the room, and he’s still strapped down to the table, but he feels better. There’s something missing though. He can’t focus. He needs to think. If he’s going to get out, he’ll need to think. Fuck, what did they do to him. He looks around. There’s nothing of use in here. There’s an observation window on the far wall, but it looks dark, like there’s no one there. Because let’s be honest. You can totally tell when something is two way glass. He finds the camera. Of course they’re watching. What had that doctor said? He was the best candidate for something? Fuck, what did they do to him. He shuts his eyes again and thinks, drifting off into more of a drugged sleep than he’s comfortable with. 

The third time he wakes, there’s a doctor, at least he assumes she’s a doctor, at his side, taking measurements or whatever it is doctors do. 

“Tony. How do you feel?”

He opens his mouth to say words, startling himself when numbers, formulas, code, _technology_ tumbles out. So he immediately panics and more numbers and code fall out. Tony strains against his bonds, staring at the doctor, pleading for once in his life, and then his head overloads again and he's out.

The fourth time he wakes, he's determined to stay awake, not panic, and not pass out again. This is getting a bit ridiculous. He's Tony Stark. He should be able to handle weird. He's an Avenger. His boyfriend is just about a hundred years old and looks thirty. He's fought aliens and robots and sentient creatures that have no business being sentient. This is NOT A BIG DEAL, right? Tony focuses on breathing. The damn heart monitor is back on. The lights are off. People are observing him from the room behind the mirror. That heart monitor is really annoyi—and it's gone. Tony cracks his eyes, ready for visual stimulation. Who turned it off? Tony stares at the ceiling, numbers floating through his head about structural soundness and area. He closes his eyes again. Tries to speak. "Tony." So far so good. "My name is Tony Stark. I'm in a facility where they've experimented on me." Good. Good. Thinking about his heart, he suddenly knows that it's . . .

Tony frowns, opening his eyes. How does he know that? He looks over to the heart monitor. It's off. Turns back on while he's staring at it. His eyes go wide. "Holy shit..." He rasps. He stares at it and thinks, 'turn off,' and it does. What else can he do? 

He has to bite back a scream as his head is full, so full, no more! And then it's gone. Tony pants on the bed, muscles relaxing again. Okay. Okay. So he can control mechanics. Now what? 

The doctor comes in, smiling widely. The kind of smile that means success. The kind that Obie always wore when Tony turned out something truly fantastic for the new quarter. Shit. "Tony. How are you feeling?"

He swallows. "What did you do to me?"

The doctor still smiles. "Don't worry. You're fine."

"Yeah, now I am," he interrupts before the man can feed him more garbage, "but I get the feeling that I almost wasn't."

"How do you feel? Do you feel better? Stronger? Smarter?"

The question gives him pause. He does feel better. Tony looks down at his chest, staring, a little bit in horror, a little in amazement at perfectly smooth skin. “What did you do to me?” he rasps.

“You’re doing really well, Tony,” the doctor says smoothly. “We’re impressed wit—”

“No, fuck you, _what did you do to me_ ,” he grits out. “I’m not an idiot. Don’t patronise me. I kind of hate that. A lot.”

The doctor shakes his head. “You just need to stay calm. With this in your system, you might feel a little overwhelmed at first. Like the first few times you woke up. So just take it easy, try to keep your mind as blank as possible—”

“Shut up, douchebag. Tell me what you did to me!” Tony strains against the bands holding him to the bed. “Do you know how many ethical codes this violates? Are you doing this to all of your _patients_? Because that’s all sorts of sick and wrong. Ever hear of consent?”

“Tony. I need you to calm down an—”

“Fucking tell me to calm down one more—Where’s my arc reactor! I assume it didn’t just get swallowed up into my chest?”

The doctor blinks. “An arc reactor?”

He rolls his eyes, still struggling. “Yes, you idiot. That’s what was keeping the shrapnel out of my heart!”

“Shrapnel!” The doctor suddenly looks alarmed. “Oh right. Yes. I saw that. In the x-ray.”

“When the fuck did you do an x-ray! Will you let me out?” Tony snapped.

“We’ll have to do another...” The man digs in his pocket and pulls out a walkie of some sort, telling so-and-so to schedule an x-ray for patient 0321875.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I don’t even get a name.”

The doctor moves closer to look him over, taking his pulse, listening to his heart, checking his pupil dilation. He smiles, obviously pleased with himself. “Excellent! I think this time it’s working,” he says into a little recorder. “Patient shows no signs of deterioration—”

“Deterioration!” Tony yelps.

“The Extremis seems to be holding stable in his bloodstream, and there are no signs of breaking down, nor are there any signs of mental break, beyond what the patient had when he came to us.”

Tony stares. “Oh God. You’ve got to be kidding me. What the fuck did you do to me...” His voice feels raw, and immediately the information on Extremis pumps through his brain. 

_Extremis: a military nano-technology serum designed to mimic the Super Soldier Serum as created by Doctor Abraham Erskine; creates connections and pathways of healing and communication in the body; created by Dr. Aldrich Killian and Maya Hansen to—_

Maya Hansen. Tony jerks, blinking rapidly. What on earth?

“Tony. Tony?” the doctor is saying.

He refocuses on the man.

“Interesting.”

Scowls. “You’re messing with things that are going to get away from you really quickly.”

The doctor only smiles and turns away, leaving the room.

Tony grits his teeth and closes his eyes. Okay. He can work with this. Connections. They’ve left him alone. So he can reach the internet with his head? Connections? Internet connections? He reaches out and turns the heart monitor on again. Then off. It’s easier. When he focuses on the rest of the facility his head feels like it’s going to burst. 

Okay. Pulling back. He takes a few deep breaths and then focuses in on the cameras. And, suddenly he can see. Eyes shut, he can tap into the cameras in the entire facility, hijack them and see everything. Useful. He sends his brain on a little search-and-poke to find his file. There’s some encryption, but frankly, it’s laughable. He gets side-tracked, noticing the similarities between it and SHIELD’s. Which sends his brain skittering off to rights, ownership, liasons, partnerships. Definitely part of SHIELD, but Tony would bite his own ass before he accepted that Fury, Coulson, and Hill knew exactly what was going on here. He squeezes his eyes tighter and focuses on his file.

  
  


_Name: John Doe 0724; Tony_

_Patient No.: 0321875_

_Date of Admission: March 17, 2011_

_Date of Birth: Unknown_

_Birthplace: Unknown_

_Relations: Unknown_

_Hair colour: Dark brown_

_Eye colour: Blue_

_Height: 6’ 1”_

_Weight: 169 lbs_

_Health Status: Generally healthy, underweight and has lost weight, features a device in his chest that stabilises pieces of shrapnel endangering heart_

_Mental Health Issues: Possible bi-polar, genius-level intelligence, insomniac, narcissistic, paranoid delusional, believes he’s the son of the late Howard Stark and only answers to ‘Tony.’ Subject can list off incredibly specific details for his ‘life,’ had he been Anthony Stark. Natural state is lucidity, does suffer breaks every now and then, usually unprompted, Tony is so entrenched within this fantasy life, he can’t, or doesn’t, tell us anything about who he really is. He claims to know people who have not heard of him, nor recognise him from photographs. It is difficult to tell, from an outside perspective, what is real, what is fake. He is very intelligent and good with machinery and electronics. Shows some signs of psychopathy._

  
  


Well huh. So that’s what they think of him. He shudders, the rest of his file going unread. He opens his eyes. Sighs. “Hey! Can I get some water in here? I’m thirsty!” The light by the door of his room begins to blink. “Whoops.” He glares at it and then it stops. He should probably keep his super-secret hacky abilities to himself for the time being. “Hey!” he yells again. He’s exhausted. These new abilities are draining and he wants to rest. And figure out a way to get out. Still. Now that he can hack all this shit, life might just be easier. At least, when he learns to control it. Because there’s still a constant buzzing in the back of his head, and he doesn't want to think about the repercussions of what they've done to him.

They come in with a glass of water for him. They take his temperature: higher than usual. Probably due to the Extremis. And give him the water. They test his reactions, his cognitive skills, and then leave him. He sighs with relief as they don’t seem to find anything wrong with him. Even as he’s finishing the thought, his own stats zing through his head. He’s got nothing more than a harmless fever due to the introduction of Extremis in his system. The stats in his head tell him he’s never been healthier. His heart is strong, his liver is better than when he was twenty, and he feels like he can even see better. He’s fine. He’s in better health than he’s been in years. Except for the weight he's lost being imprisoned. All of the scars from the reactor are gone. Any residual evidence of the palladium poisoning is gone. Tony doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand where his arc reactor went. If this virus healed him, then did it force the reactor out? Are the shards gone. 

His skin looks...touchable. For the first time in a long time. He swallows. Wishes he could touch it. 

Tony yanks at his restraints again, the chains clanking rudely. Scrunching his fingers and thumb together he pulls at the bond, working his hand back and forth to get it over his hand. He feels like he’s made some progress when he has to leave off because he’s exhausted. Tony lets himself rest a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. 

But he can’t let his mind wander or else he’s inundated with more information than he can keep track of. The combination of some sort of operation, his body adjusting to something new, having to keep his mental focus, and still trying to escape sends him off to sleep.

When he wakes the fifth time he's back in his room. The world only spins slightly to the left as he tries to stand. He rubs his wrists, noting the new camera in his room on the other wall. Squinting at it, Tony manages to hack it and then watches, pleased, as it turns. He looks to the other one and it turns as well, giving him a blind spot in the back corner of the room. He grins. Settling himself against the wall, he closes his eyes and focuses. Within the hour, Tony can get into any of the electrical systems on the compound. He’s figured out that they’re in northern New York state. Out of the city, but close enough that Tony could get back fairly easily. Through the variety of cell phones and lines in and out of the complex, Tony can access wifi and the outside world. There actually isn’t much he cannot do, he’s discovering. Had it not been against his will, Tony would have been over the moon for this kind of bleeding edge communication. 

He orders flowers for Pepper out of Fury’s pocket. 

He puts in a recommendation for Rhodey’s advancement in Coulson’s name.

He hacks SHIELD’s mainframe. “Oh fuck.” His concentration slips and he’s inundated with voices and communications and emails and snippets of a million other things. Tony slams up mental walls and drops out back to his white room that he’s come to know so well. “Steve.”

They found Steve. 

His vision blurs.

Without him.

A month and a half ago. At least.

Tony falls back against the wall, vertigo sweeping over him until all he can do is breathe.

Steve. The name thrums through his head on endless repeat, a thousand phone call messages reading off the name ‘Steve.’ Thousands of emails addressed to ‘Steve’s. 

He groans and slaps hands over his ears. “Stoppit! _Fuck_.” He grits his teeth and wills all the information away. Panting he crawls away from the wall, careless of the cameras and drags himself up onto his bed to pass out.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony spends the next four days endlessly seeking video feeds, information, emails, _anything_ about Steve. He catches sly obfuscations from Fury to Coulson and vice-versa. Between Coulson and Natasha and vice-versa. Steve is listed as having a room, but there are no cameras in the hall, no cameras in his SHIELD closet of a room. He scans the cameras frantically, finding nothing. No Steve in the halls, no Steve in his room, no Steve in the mess hall. No Steve in the gym. Where he would have expected him to be. When he finally does find Steve, he’s sequestered himself in a small corner of the helicarrier, looking at something. The camera angle can’t tell him what it is. Tony curses. He looks so alone. Tony’s not there for him. He needs to escape.

His door opens and David comes in with food. “Hey, Tony. What are you doing back there? Come and eat. You’re getting kind of thin.”

He looks up at David then down at himself. He’s curled up on the bed, knees to his chest, back to the wall. Defensive. Blinks slowly. His eyes are dry. Probably from using the Extremis. And not blinking. They quickly flood with tears.

“Woah! Hey hey! What’s wrong?” David hurries forwards.

“I...” His voice cracks. He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m fine. Dry eyes...” he mutters. Damn Extremis.

“You doing okay, Tony?”

“I’m fi—no, you know what? No! I’m stuck in this stupid place and being treated like an invalid!” He staggers to his feet, wobbling a bit. Maybe it has been a while since he ate. David’s hand comes out to steady him. Tony smacks it away. “I’m one of the forefront minds on this planet. You all know it. And I’m stuck in here, _useless_ , unable to do anything of consequence! Treated like a child, _experimented_ on! Which is so many levels of 'not cool' I can't even tell you! Seriously. Do you know how many laws and codes of ethics that breaks? Against my will. _Against_ my will. So no. I don’t think I’m 'alright.'”

David just blinks at him.

Tony relents, sagging in on himself. It’s not like there’s anything this lackey can do. “No. It’s not your fault. I just... I’m sick of being stuck. You know? I’m better than this.” Great. Now he’s airing all his problems to a guy _so_ not his therapist.

David shrugs. “Sorry. I don’t know what to tell you, Tony.”

“You can let me out or get me a fucking cheeseburger,” he mutters, swaying towards the food. “Whatever. Never mind. Let it go.” He turns away from David and stares depressingly at the fare they’ve got today. Mushy green beans, tasteless mashed potatoes, and steak that’s more fat and bone than meat. Appetising. He sighs. “Thanks...”

David looks at him a moment, searching, and then turns away and leaves.

Tony settles himself in front of the food at the knee-height table he’d been given. Half of it is crowded with his papers and the tablet. He stirs the food absently with his blunt spork, leaning listlessly on an elbow. His mind turns back to Steve as he pushes the potatoes into his mouth. A friend. Steve needs a friend. His now-healthy heart aches a bit to think of him alone with only Clint, Tash, and _Coulson_ for friends. God, they weren’t even going to be friends. Because they didn’t have a place to go, to be... There was no Avengers Mansion here. He chokes on the limp beans. Spits them out. He doesn’t feel like eating.

Tony retreats back to his corner, thinking about Steve. Steve has an email address. He snorts. [Steve.Rogers@SHIELDnet.com](mailto:Steve.Rogers@SHIELDnet.com). Brilliant. Maybe... Maybe it’s not too hard for Steve not to have a friend after all. He gets as far as ‘Dear Steve,’ before he realises that, when he leaves, it would be cruel to leave him with no one again. Tony spends about ten minutes warring with himself about the decision before he finally grits his teeth and sends an email. He needs the contact too, or else he’s going to go truly crazy.

He waits around his cell, tablet forgotten as he drowns himself in the internet. He sends nasty anonymous emails to Stane, telling him he knows what he did, and he knows he’s a double-crossing, greedy son-of-a-bitch.

Steve still hasn’t emailed him back.

He composes tons of emails to Pepper, telling her all the things he’s meant to tell her but never said aloud. He doesn’t send one of them.

Steve sill doesn’t reply.

Tony blinks a couple times, noticing Matt outside his door with dinner. Standing next to him is the doctor who had infected him with Extremis.

“Tony! How are you doing?”

Tony stares at him blankly, searching through the staff directory in his head until he sees the man’s face. Gerald Oakman. So not one of the creators of Extremis.

“Tony? Can you hear me, Tony?”

“I can hear you just fine,” Tony says immediately.

Gerald’s grin falters. “Uh, alright then. Well, I stopped by to see how you were doing!”

“Took you a while.”

“I’ve been a bit busy,” he says, all false sympathy and indulgent kindness.

Tony searches his locations in the past four days and smirks blankly. “Uh-huh. Other candidates not working out so well for you?”

Gerald is now frowning. “Sorry, don’t know what you mean.”

“You injected me with a virus. What did you think was going to happen?”

Gerald murmurs something to Matt. Matt shakes his head and murmurs something back.

“Whatever,” Tony says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the padded wall.

“I wanted to talk to you about any side-effects.”

“Side-effect?” Tony says in disbelief. “Sorry, I don’t have my arc reactor any more. What the hell kind of side-effect is that?”

Looking at him with barely curtailed annoyance, Gerald clicks his tongue. “I would have thought you'd be happy about that. It was an eye-sore. You healed. It disappeared during the transformation.”

“Eye-sore? Transformation...” Tony says flatly. But then he’s got the video playing through his head, triple speed, and he’s lying on the bed, strapped down. Arc reactor still present. Then he’s suddenly being covered with some sort of scab and when it finally breaks and flakes away, there he is, whole, on the bed. No arc reactor. He shudders. “Right. Okay. Sure. Fine.” How many more one-word sentences can he string together?

“So how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he dead-pans. “Feel great. Perfect health.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?” Gerald counters.

“Never said anything about my mental health.” He stares up at Gerald. “Might also have something to do with the quality of this crap you give us to eat.”

Gerald stares back, mutters something to Matt about ‘keeping a closer eye on him, make sure he eats, and report anything unusual to me.’

Tony musters the energy to make a nasty face at Gerald’s retreating back. “Asshole.”

Matt snickers.

“Knew there was a reason I liked you...” Tony says with a faint smile. “Seriously. Any chance I can get a cheeseburger? The food here is shit. I almost barfed up those beans last time.”

Matt looks down at the tray and then back at Tony apologetically. “I’m sorry. Maybe... I dunno. Maybe next time. We’ll see.” He opens the door and sets the plate down on Tony’s little table. “You sure you’re doing okay? You seem...”

“Bored? Annoyed? Frustrated?”

“Listless.”

Tony focuses in on Matt. “Huh. Nah. It’s fine. I’m just...fine.” He wonders what ‘fine’s definition is these days. Because it surely isn’t ‘very well,’ or ‘in an excellent manner.’ He gives him a weakened Stark Smile and waves carelessly as Matt relocks the door and leaves. Tony jumps as his email alert bings in his head. Feels himself smile for the first time in a while.

  


_Dear Sir,_

_I’m not sure how you got this address, but I do not know you. I think you may have the wrong person. Please do not contact me again. Thank you,_

_Steve Rogers_

  


He’s a bit stunned at first. Because when has Steve ever refused him? But then he remembers that this is a Steve who’s never known him. Then he wonders bitterly who helped him type the damn thing because it probably wasn’t Steve. No errors. Steve’s first emails had been full of errors. Unless he’d sat in front of his computer for hours and painstakingly typed it out. The thought makes his heart hurt. His hand flies to his chest, and he panics anew when he feels smooth skin. As much as he’d hated the scars, he misses the arc reactor.

He mentally clicked the reply button and composed, erasing and rewording things about a hundred times.

  


_Steve,_

_Sorry if I threw you off or something. I knew Howard. And, I know he’s dead, but I know you were special to him. You are who I think you are. And if you need anything, advice, tech advice, I’m your man. Let me know how I can help. I’m sure the future (for you) is a strange place. But it’s not so bad. Got some good things about it. Like the internet! So it would be nice to... strike up a correspondence (that’s what you old timers say, right? ;) ) with you and get to know you._

_Sorry again for freaking you out. Hope to hear from you soon, Cap._

_-Tony_

  


He sighs and goes over to his food, picking through it. This shit really is terrible. He eats about three bites before he’s just not hungry and pushes the plate away to return to his bed, back to the wall.

Pulling his file up in his mind again, he rereads through the information.

“ _Mental Health Issues: Possible bi-polar, genius-level intelligence, insomniac, narcissistic, paranoid delusional, believes he’s the son of the late Howard Stark and only answers to ‘Tony.’ Subject can list off incredibly specific details for his ‘life,’ had he been Anthony Stark. Natural state is lucidity, does suffer breaks every now and then, usually unprompted, Tony is so entrenched within this fantasy life, he can’t, or doesn’t, tell us anything about who he really is. He claims to know people who have not heard of him, nor recognise him from photographs. It is difficult to tell, from an outside perspective, what is real, what is fake. He is very intelligent and good with machinery and electronics. Shows some signs of psychopathy.”_

They think he’s crazy. He snorts. Wouldn’t be the first. ‘Iron Man: Yes; Tony Stark: no’ He sneers at the wall. He’s not crazy. He knows who he is. He’s not some nobody off the street.


	5. Chapter 5

Four days later, after he’s not slept, Tony’s maybe doubting that a little. David and Matt try to convince him into a shower. He doesn’t want it. They leave. 

The information runs rampant through his brain when he loses focus, and it leaves him gasping on the floor. David calls for Gerald, who examines him and finds nothing wrong. Tony won’t tell him that his brain activity is off the charts. That he’s still adjusting to the virus they infected him with. That he’s probably not doing so well. Which he won’t ever admit to these idiots. They eventually leave. Tony’s not sure what he’s said to him, but they’re gone. And he can always check later, when Gerald enters his information into the computer. 

Tony checks his email. He spies on Pepper, Rhodey. Makes sure art supplies are sent to Steve. Quietly adjusts Pepper’s pay at the place where she works. He knows whatever they pay her, it isn’t enough. And, for good measure, sends her some shoes. He sends Rhodey those nasty Koala Yummies things that he likes, that are next to impossible to find, now that the 90s are over. 

It’s 8:04 P.M. by then, and there’s no reply from Steve. Despite the fact that he sent it at 9:26 A.M., and there were no world-needs-saving-events today. He checked. There was nothing on the SHIELD logs, no special meetings, nothing. So he goes back to Gerald’s logs. 

_Patient 0321875 exhibits similar symptoms as prior patients. This is disappointing, because he was doing so well. His body accepted the Extremis easily, and he seemed augmented by it. Now, he seems to be suffering mentally more than ever. Patient has lost more weight, is less social, and seems to be less and less aware of his surroundings. Signs are pointing towards a full break. Will report further findings._

Tony stares at it. In his head, of course, because he doesn’t have the fucking papers in front of him. Instead he settles for screaming at the camera and swiping all of his papers off his table, in true tantrum fashion. He punches the walls, using the moves that Steve taught him. Fuck, what is he doing in here. He needs to get out. He’s gotten distracted what with all of this stuff going on. He resettles himself on the bed, falls onto his side and tugs the blanket up around his shoulders. 

There’s no way he’s crazy. He’s Tony Stark. And he is who he says he is. 

Anthony Edward Stark. Son of Maria and Howard Stark. Owner of Stark Industries. Founding member of the Avengers. Iron Man. Born May 29, 1970. Graduate of MIT. He knows who he fucking is. Tony pulls at his own hair, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing all of this information would just go. Away.

He finally wills himself to sleep.

When he wakes, Matt is waiting outside of his room, a doggie bag in hand.

“Huh?” he says intelligently, the morning news running through his brain, the weather in New York and Malibu, stock prices, someone died, small night-mission at SHIELD—

“Brought you a cheeseburger.”

It takes a second to penetrate, but Tony jumps up and is at the door. “Oh God, I love you, can I tell you how much I love you; this is fantastic; you’re amazing—”

“Woah, woah. Okay!” Matt laughs. “Gotta stand back, Tony. If you want me to open the door.”

“Fucking rules,” he mutters, but obediently backs away, folding his arms, quivering with his excitement for some _real_ food.

“How are you feeling?” He shuts the door behind him, locking it.

“Not crazy.”

Matt laughs. “That’s good. You hungry?”

“For a cheeseburger? Fuck yes. That's never going to be a 'no.'” He holds out his hand, the smell making his stomach rumble and suddenly ache sharply with want. “God, I could make love to that cheeseburger right now. Steve and I—” He breaks off and sits cross-legged on the floor, indicating to Matt to join him. “You got two. You planning on eating?”

Matt looks guilty all of a sudden. “Sorry, the other one was supposed to be for Dave. He’s off sick today though.”

“My lucky day,” Tony says, not finding the effort to care that it wasn’t intended for him in the first place. He grabs the offered burger from Matt and rips the wrapping off before taking a big bite. And moans. “This is orgasmic...”

“Uh...” 

He cracks an eye at Matt. Who is blushing. Tony laughs. God that feels good. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Matt says around a bite of his own burger.

“Baby,” Tony retorts.

“Sorry?” Matt says incredulously. “And how old are you?”

“You gonna believe me?”

Matt looks at him a second and then nods.

“42.” 

“Huh.”

“Which is also the answer to life, the universe, and everything.”

Matt blinks at him and then perks up. “I know that one!”

Tony laughs. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. Cult classic. God, this is just the best burger ever.”

“They are really good.”

“Granted, I’d been eating shit food for the past...whatever. Six months?” Exactly 191 days, he knows.

“Something like that,” Matt shrugs.

Tony hums, finishing off the burger too quickly. “Well. Thanks. For this. Kind of made my day.”

Matt looks at his half-finished burger, then back up at Tony’s face. “Want the rest of mine?”

“You don’t?”

Matt shrugs. “I had a snack earlier.”

Tony doesn’t believe him for a second. However, as he’s discovered he’s starving, he’s not going to say no to a delicious burger when all he gets is crap food. He takes it and quickly wolfs it down. Matt chats at him for a little while longer before he has to leave on rounds. “Hey,” Tony says as he’s half out the door.

Matt turns.

“Come back if you’re ever bored.” Tony smiles. People to talk to. They’re always ni—Oh. Steve. Emailing him back. He grins.

“Sure thing, Tony. Tony?”

He shakes his head away from the email and refocuses on Matt. “Yeah. What? Thanks for the burger.”

“Uh... Sure. I’ll...see you later.”

Tony nods and waits until Matt’s got the door closed. “Hey. Maybe I’ll shower tomorrow.”

Matt nods, smiles. “Sounds good, Tony.”

He waits until he’s gone and then goes back to his bed, stretching out, lacing his fingers behind his head. Which feels clearer than it has in a while. He brings up Steve’s email.

_Dear Tony,_

_I don't know where or how you got your information, but again, I'm going to have to ask you not to contact me. This is a secure email address and you have no business having access to it._

_Thank you,_

_Steve Rogers_

Tony stares angrily at it. Refused twice. He shuts it all down and rolls over to face the wall. 

Eventually, he drops off to sleep, awakened in the morning by the internet buzzing in his head. He groans and slumps over to where someone left him oatmeal for breakfast. Blinking at it unseeingly, Tony instead sees Gerald’s latest report:

_September 24, 2011 Notes: Subject appears to be in better spirits. Signs of deteriorating health seem to have ceased; Extremis does cause better health in those whose bodies accept it. It also helps to guard against and prevent illness, even when the body is introduced to toxins and germs. Mental health appears stable. Is still extremely intelligent; seems bored. Does seem to be growing more paranoid. Is hiding work from us. Might be hiding something else. Will continue to make observations._

Are they...poisoning him? Tony focuses in on the oatmeal he’s eating. He rolls his eyes and sighs, pushing the bowl away from him. Moving back to his bed, he waits until Matt or David comes to bring him, to the showers. And surfs the internet.

They come get him almost an hour later, and he’s taken down the hall. He watches them on camera, not paying attention to where his feet are moving. Soaps his hair. Scrubs down his body. He’s lost weight. Kind of a lot of weight. Steve wouldn’t be happy. Snorts to himself. Steve doesn’t know him here. 

He’s perusing some photos that some astronomer took of a new space object when his blood freezes, and he falls over in the shower. David grabs him, but Tony smacks his head on the tiles anyway.

“Jesus! Is he okay?” Matt is saying. 

“I dunno! All the blood just rushed out of his face and he fell!”

“Do I need to call someone?”

“Tony?” David is saying in his face.

Tony stares at him, water running into his eyes. Fuck. Naked. He breathes again and grabs ahold of Dave’s shoulder. “Yeah. Fine. I’m fine. Fine.”

They both look at him with expressions of doubt so familiar that he thinks he’s looking at Pepper and Rhodey. Except. You know. Pepper doesn’t have sideburns and Rhodey’s black. But still. He levers himself up right and slams the water off, wrapping himself in a towel.

“Are you sure? You smacked your head,” Matt begins.

“No. I’m fine.” And he is. He sits on a bench and waves them away. “Just gimme a minute,” he breaths. Because fuck. That wasn’t a space object. That was a Skrull ship. Fuck.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


He settles into his cot and immediately sets to planning. He needs out. He needs a suit. He needs to warn the Avengers. Such as they are. 

Step 1. Send Fury an email.

_Fury,_

_You got Skrulls in your sky. Take care of it._

_-A concerned citizen_

Step 2 is interrupted because he received a reply from Fury almost immediately.

_Citizen,_

_I don’t know who you are, and how you got this email. But keep your nose out of official business._

So, of course, Tony has to reply. _You know what a Skrull is?_

To which Fury replies, _No._

That...is bad. Tony swears a blue streak. Fine. Enough. On to Step 2. Get out. Bringing up the employee schedule, he works it out. David will be gone tomorrow night. Matt will be gone just before that. And Tony will leave between the times, seeing as Gerald took the week off, setting up an intern to check up on him. So he plans. And he waits. And he keeps his ‘eye’ on the Skrull ship in the sky.


	6. Chapter 6

He’s ready. Plan in motion. Starts the timer in his head. Extremis is quickly becoming essential, no matter the method of application. Jesus, imagine what he can do with the suit! He grins as the power goes out and someone down the hall starts screaming. People always scream when the lights go out. Stupid. He quickly manoeuvred around the electrical lock system on his room and popped it open. Stretching as he got to his feet, Tony recalled the building schematics and crept out, hugging the wall. Turning the cameras away, Tony gets down to the staff locker rooms and, again, borrows clothes, and shoes, and nicks a cell phone. This time is going to go differently than last. By the time they get the systems back up and running, Tony will be gone. He turns off the fire alarm at the exit door and sneaks out the back. And heads towards one of the last places they’ll think to look for him: Stane International. Hacking the mainframe once he’s in the lobby and connected to the wifi, he gets himself down to the research levels. This late, there’s hardly anyone there.

Tony quickly loops the camera, sets up shop, and locks the door with a sign warning people away on account of a mercury leak. Cracking his knuckles, he looks over the his raw materials and turns on the radio to get to work.

Twenty-one hours later, and he has a (mostly) working suit. Another four hours and it’s nearly perfect. Nearly. He’s really not happy with the interfacing, but he doesn’t have JARVIS, and he’ll have to rely solely on himself for this. Which he can. JARVIS just makes things blessedly easier. He doesn’t relish the thought of going up against Skrulls on his own. If he can get the rest of the Avengers on board (such as they are), then they might have a chance. And if they believe him, trust him, then he might grant himself access to SHIELD’s tech labs. And then he might just be able to get himself home. If no access? Well. Tony will just sneak in and get it done that way. Or maybe appeal to Richards. But he’d prefer not to have to watch his back, of course.

He shakes his head. Enough of that to worry about later. First things first: Skrulls.

Taking half a moment to check up on the facility, he’s pleased that they’re still in a bit of a panic. And that their systems are still in a funk. They do deserve it, after all.

He struts around the lab in his newly constructed suit, pleased with the joint articulation and it’s newly stream-lined design. The red isn’t quite right, but what can he do in these conditions... Another hour of last minute tinkers and he’s got the Extremis system running through the suit pretty seamlessly, and it’s a fair approximation of JARVIS. Not a replacement, but it’ll do.

Checking up on the Skrull ship, it’s closer. But it doesn’t seem like it’s made any hostile inroads quite yet. Which means he still has time. It’s just after 7 P.M. He gathers up the cell phone he modified, opens the lab window, and jets out, thanking God that everything seems to be working. It wouldn’t really do to fall ignominiously to his death. And leave the world without a last defense against the Skrulls.

He fritzes any cameras as he zooms by towards the helicarrier and comes up underneath, making one of the empty (he’s checked) hanger bays open. Landing lightly, Tony zeroes in on Steve’s location. Steve’s the one he wants to convince first. The others (should) follow Steve’s lead. Luckily, Steve’s dinky room isn’t too far, and Tony’s able to make it without being seen. He’s rather proud of himself for that. He hesitates outside of Steve’s room, belatedly cursing the armour being in the way. He’d be a lot less intimidating if he looked like a man rather than a machine. Settling for taking the helmet off, he buzzes the cameras and knocks on Steve’s door once.

“Come in,” Steve calls, voice so familiar it makes his heart beat faster. He’s been so focused on getting in without being seen, he hasn’t had time to think—hasn’t _wanted_ to think about how seeing Steve, with Steve not knowing him, might affect him.

Tony swallows and opens the door, squeezing through it before pulling it shut behind him. Steve’s on his feet, shield in hand when he turns to face him. “Wait!” Tony throws his hands up, helmet hanging from one. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” Steve asks, brow creased in confusion.

His heart leaps. “I’m Tony. I...emailed you.”

“Tony?” Steve says slowly.

“Yeah. I said I knew Howard?”

His expression clears of the confusion, though not the suspicion. “What are you here for? _How_ did you get here?”

“Are you going to call the guard on me?”

“What are you here for?”

He makes a small noise of frustration. “ _Steve_. I’m here to help. There’s an enemy coming. From outer space. And I need you to trust me.”

“Outer space,” Steve repeats flatly.

“Yes.” He meets Steve’s gaze squarely, lowering his hands. “And I know I sound like a crazy person—”

“I was born in the 40s, and I just came out of a block of ice,” Steve says coldly.

“I know.”

Steve’s eyes narrow further. “How?”

“Not important. Listen, are you listening?”

“I’ll hear what you have to say,” Steve says, again, his voice detached and holding none of the personality that Tony’s used to.

“Okay, long story short, I’m from another universe. I don’t exist here. I...” He swallows. “I need to get back to my universe. But there’s something up in the sky, and it’s actually a Skrull ship. They’re aliens. They want to take over the world and basically destroy the human population. Basically, they’re dicks. So we need to stop them and save the world.”

Steve stares at him. “We?”

“Yes. The Avengers.” This is awful. Jesus. “Or do you not call yourselves that?”

“The Avengers Initiative...?” Steve says slowly.

Tony nods. “Clint, Nat, you. Bruce Banner, but I expect he’s still in India somewhere... and Thor. And myself. Except I don’t exist in this world... Do you believe me?”

“The Avengers Initiative hasn’t been...” Steve’s expression turns more terrifyingly bland, and he says, “It didn’t go through. There’s just a few agents. Thor is an ally we can call on if we need the big guns. But there are no ‘Avengers.’”

Tony stares. “Jesus. Am I really that important?” The thought is staggering. “Do I really matter that much?” Steve says nothing, merely stands there, at attention, staring at him. “God, Steve. I’m sorry.”

His brow crinkles slightly. “What for?”

Removing his gauntlets, he sets them on the table along with his helmet, and steps closer to Steve. “I’m sorry,” he says again quietly. “That I wasn’t there for you. When you woke up.”

“If you don’t exist in this world, how could you have been there for me.”

He winces. “I don’t know. I want... I wish I could have been there for you.”

Something clears in Steve’s eyes. “You’re...Is there another me in your universe?” He stumbles over the question.

“Yes.”

“And you and I are friends over there,” Steve clarifies. He always was a quick study.

“The best.”

Steve nods once. “Alright.”

“You’ll help?” Tony asks, hope soaring.

Looking him over once more, Steve nods. “Yes. You’ll have to convince—”

“Fury. I know. Damn bastard’s hard to convince. Plus...” he trailed off. “He may already have reasons to hate me.” When Steve looks alarmed, he quickly adds, “I walked into a SHIELD base and got arrested for trespassing.” This does not assuage Steve’s alarmed face. “Relax! From another universe, remember? I thought I worked there. Well. Not really, because I have my own company, but I thought I knew people there.” He can’t help adding bitterly, “Turned out I don’t know anyone.”

Steve stays silent a moment before frowning and asking, “How did you get in?”

“I used my codes.”

“How did your codes work?”

Opening his mouth, he swallows his words. “Uh. I don’t know. That’s a really good question.” One they unfortunately don’t have time to really ponder, as they need to get Fury on his side. “So Fury doesn’t believe me about the alien threat. I already sent him an email letting him know. I’m hoping, with you as backup, he’ll listen to me.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Let’s go. You...might want to ditch the armour.”

Tony shakes his head. “No. I figure if I go in full armour, then he won’t see who I am until we’ve got him in his room—put that look away. I’m not planning on hurting the guy, I just want to save the world, Steve.”

Steve nods again, for some reason trusting him, and then moves past Tony, opening the door.

Tony echoes his nod and grabs his gauntlets and helmet, following him out the door and through the helicarrier halls. This Steve is... He’s kind of empty. Maybe that’s what bothers Tony the most. He’s not really Steve. He’s not the person Tony knows, and, maybe sort of loves. His heart clenches. The SHIELD agents back out of Steve’s way as they pass, giving Tony strange looks. Not quite what he’s used to. “Fury’s in his office?”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. He’s all efficiency and military precision. He’s Captain America, Tony realises. There’s no Steve Rogers here. He’s buried in there somewhere.

Tony swallows and folds his arms, waiting while Steve knocks on the door and waits. Tony’s glad for his face plate. There’s a call from within and Steve enters, making room for Tony to come in behind him.

“Colonel Fury,” is as far as Steve is able to get before there’s a gun pointed at Tony’s head. “Relax, Colonel,” Steve insists. “He’s a friendly.”

“Who are you?” Fury demands.

Tony rolls his eyes. He thinks he prefers the notoriety to being someone nameless. “Iron Man. I’m here to help. You’ve got an alien problem, sir.”

“Iron Man?” Fury says derisively, his brow going up. “You a man without a face?”

“Yeah. But like Steve said, a friendly one. The Skrulls are a big problem. We need to stop them from ever getting to Earth. They’re shape-shifters and can replace anyone at will. It’s undetectable. Except if you have Reed Richards on your team. Which you do. They might already have this plan in progress.”

“And how do you know this?” Fury asks, leaning back in his chair, unimpressed. At least the gun is put down.

Tony sighs with the martyred patience of a saint. Too bad that doesn’t translate through the helmet.

“He’s here to help, Fury, and if what he says is true, then we’re going to need all the allies we can get,” Steve says.

And the fact that Steve, who hardly knows him, is defending him, warms his heart. “I’m Tony Stark,” he says, lifting the faceplate. “And I know—”

“Aw fuck! What are you doing here?” Fury’s on his feet, the gun once again trained on Tony’s face.

“Just _listen_ to me!” Tony shouts. He jabs a finger in the direction of Fury’s computer, bringing up the information immediately to back himself up. “There. That’s the telescope image. That is _not_ an asteroid. That is a Skrull ship. They’re going to come to Earth, take over, kill us all, and they’re going to _laugh_ at us while they do it. So you need to call in Thor. You need Clint and Nat here stat. You need Coulson. You need to bring in Bruce Banner. Alert the Fantastic Four. The X-Men. Get everyone’s asses in gear,” Tony says lowly, slamming a hand down on Fury’s desk.

The man stares up at him, again, unfazed. “Who are you.”

“Haven’t I told you enough times?” he snaps. “It doesn’t matter. You never listen to me when I tell you anyway. Besides. It’s unimportant. Are you listening to me at all?” He threw his hands up into the air and stomped a few paces away. “Okay. I know that you think I’m crazy. I know that you think I’m a nobody. But _trust_ me,” he says through grit teeth, “when I have the best interests of our planet in mind. I don’t exactly want to become the next Skrull home-world.”

Fury’s quiet a minute, staring at him. “Okay. Let’s say I trust you on this. Can you prove it?”

He almost sighs aloud. Finally. A break. “Yes. Half of your info's right there. Get me in contact with Richards. I remember the schematics of a tool from when I worked on it with him. I can get him started on the project, and it can be done by this time tomorrow.”

“So you’ve already done all this before?”

“Some of it,” Tony admits. “But I know how to handle Skrulls. We need to beat them so they never consider coming back to our planet. Find their queen and take her out. That will send them packing.”

Fury stares at him hard a moment longer. “How did you get into my computer?”

Tony blinks. Steve stares at him, hard. “What? Oh.” He folds his arms, levelling a glare at him. “You can thank your boys over at...” The name comes to him from the file folder stationary. “Morton Out-Patient Care Facility. They decided to get a little funky with the drugs,” he says flatly. “Used me as their experimental plaything. So now I’ve got super-powers. Lucky it was me, Fury. Lucky it was only me. It didn’t work in any of their other patients, for whatever reason. Anyone else and they would have gone insane. I almost did. So that’s something we’ll talk about later. Let’s not forget the irony of almost going insane in an insane asylum.”

“You were in an insane asylum?” Steve blurts, his face finally showing something besides military blankness.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes. Fine. I escaped from an insane asylum. But we are so getting off-topic. Jesus, and to think I used to lead us off topic on purpose...” He throws a look at Fury. “This is the one and only time I’m apologising for that. Too bad the guy in my ‘verse won’t ever know.” He grins to get them back on-board. “Okay. Get me to Richards. I’ll write out the plans, I’ll leave him to the construction. Rogers, you and I are going to go find Banner. Fury, I take it you have a way of contacting Thor?”

“Thor, being a god, comes and goes as he pleases.”

“Yes, but you have to have a way to get in touch with him if you need his help. Without Cap, and without me, you would have been down a heavy-hitter, so you would have had to have some way to call him,” Tony insists, irritation making his voice sharper than he means. Then he remembers it’s Fury, and he maybe doesn’t really care.

“Fine,” Fury concedes. “Why do you need to take Rogers with you?”

“Because we’re a team,” Tony says stubbornly, “and Banner likes us best.” Then he remembers belatedly, India’s far, and he doesn’t have jets with his name on them to fly him places. “Get Coulson to take us.”

“You’re making an awful lot of orders, sir. And I’m not sure I like it. So—”

“So I don’t care, because your planet is going to end up Skrull fodder if you don’t listen to me!” Tony insists, leaning over him, knowing he’s intimidating to most men when he’s in the suit and actually being serious.

Fury, of course, looks completely unintimidated. But he does sigh and tell him, “Fine. Take Rogers. Take Coulson. Coulson reports directly to me. So he will keep track of every movement. Don’t screw me over. Or else I _will_ have you put down.”

He grins, a nasty thing. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. And you’ll call me ‘Tony Stark,’ Fury. I won’t answer to anything else.”

“Your funeral.”

Tony whirls and stalks from the room. Steve hesitates a moment and then follows him. Tony leads them to Coulson’s office. “We’re leaving immediately.”

“You’re confident of where Banner is?” Coulson says placidly, looking up from his paperwork, apparently already alerted to the situation.

“Fairly. Give me access to the lab for a half hour and I can tell you for sure.” The man is probably the same everywhere.

Coulson arcs a brow at him. “Go. Come and get me when you know for sure. Rogers, stay.”

Tony looks at Steve and then sighs, making his way down to the lab. He shoos everyone out, claiming law of Coulson, and then gets to work. True to his word, he’s got a lock on Banner (in Calcutta, thank God some things are the same..), and it’s only been 24 minutes. Which leaves him six minutes to write out those plans for Reed for the Skrull-detector. Which he does in sixteen. Steve’s there when he looks up. “Oh. Hey.”

Steve’s lips quirk upwards slightly. “I’ve been talking to you.”

“Have I been responding?”

“A little.”

“Oh. Sorry. Dunno what I was saying, ready to go?”

Steve looks at him strangely. “You’re not helping your case of not looking crazy...”

Tony laughs. “Relax, Cap. I’m not crazy. I just get wrapped up in my work. I’m an engineer. Inventor. Businessman. I’m not gonna lead you wrong.”

“Well, you do look a bit mad with your hair as it is.”

“My hair?” Tony echoes, confused.

Steve’s hand goes to his own head, indicating Tony’s hair sticking up.

“Oh!” he breaths, forgetting he hasn’t shaved or showered in...a long time. Seeing as the people hadn’t allowed him near scissors or a razor the entire time he’d been there. “Ehn. I’m sure Banner’s got the homeless look going on. I’ll shave while we’re on our way over there. I’m really shockingly handsome under all this,” he teases.

Steve looks slightly alarmed and blushes as he looks away.

Tony’s heart twinges. Oh yeah. Not his Steve.

Clearing his throat, he gestures to Tony to walk ahead into Coulson’s office. He gives him instructions for the plans to give to Reed. Flight plans are quickly concluded, Tony’s not allowed to fly because they don’t know him (and more important things like they assume he doesn't know how, he doesn't have clearance, and he isn't licensed), so Coulson flies, seeing as Steve’s not too attuned to their equipment yet. Coulson does keep a sharp eye on him as they board, but Tony stays in line, taking ten minutes to look around at the jet before he settles in for take-off. Once they get into the air, he grabs the razor and scissors that he borrowed and leans over the sink. Steve watches him, Tony can see, through the mirror. And once his face is clean-shaven, Tony grins at his reflection. “Wow. Okay. Much better.”

Behind him, Steve makes a small noise of agreement.

Tony picks up the scissors, wondering how best to deal with his mop. “Hm...” He glances back at Steve. “Would you give me a hand?”

Steve blinks at him, alarm crossing and then disappearing from his face. “I don’t... I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Just help me cut it so it’s even?”

“Your hair is fine. If you comb it. It was your facial hair that was a little out-of-control.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You like it long?”

“I don’t have an opinion one way or another,” Steve says, voice back to that flat tone that makes Tony want to throw himself onto Steve’s lap just to get his attention.

He swallows. “Right. Well...” His arm sinks down, setting the scissors back onto the edge of the sink. “I’ll just leave it then...” When he looks up, Steve is looking at him through the mirror.

“You said we were friends,” Steve says slowly.

Tony can’t get over how Steve looks at him like he’s a stranger. “Yeah. The best.”

“You...” Steve shakes his head and doesn’t finish his sentence. “Never mind. It’s nothing. There’s a comb in my backpack over there.”

Tony nods, taking the small peace-offering for what it is and combs his hair smooth. Which is easy since it’s kind of gross and greasy. “So. How do you like the future?”

Steve shrugs.

“Is it what you expected?”

“I...” Steve shrugs again, unable to put any thoughts he might have into words.

“Is it—”

“Enough with the small talk!” Coulson interrupts. “Just sit and chill, Stark.”

Tony grins at the familiar sound of his name, closing his eyes. He’d never imagined that he would be so glad to hear it. “I'm not going to break him, thanks, Coulson. But hey. You’re not so bad.”

Coulson just grunts and hunkers down in the pilot’s chair until they reach India.

Tony does the approach, charms and laughs with a nervous Banner. He’s nothing like the Bruce he first knew. Nervous, skittish, bordering on a little manic. Disinclined to trust. _Hunted_. So he takes off the suit, Steve and Coulson telling him in his ear that he’s being stupid.

But Tony knows Bruce. He knows Bruce has his reservations. He knows Bruce has his shadows and dark corners in his life. He knows Bruce doesn’t want to trust, but he’s _desperate_ to trust. He knows Bruce is a man who, despite exiling himself into loneliness, likes being around other people and other minds.

So Tony throws himself in a rickety chair and talks about the advancements in Gamma Rays and science that Bruce, the Bruce _he_ knew had jabbered at him once upon a time. By the time he is finished, Bruce looks kindly upon him and accepts the ride to New York.

“Great!” Tony says, clapping the man on the back.

Bruce stares at him with a sort of awesome shyness, like he’s just been touched for the very first time.

Tony shakes his head. Now is not the time for Madonna, no matter how much it might be true. He makes the quick introductions to Cap and Coulson and then they’re on the way back to New York.

He’s loathe to leave Bruce to Coulson and Fury, but he has more important things to do at the moment. He informs Fury that he’s going to go check on Reed, is given Steve as an escort slash chaperone.

“Reed!” He throws his arms wide, clomping towards him in the suit.

Sue looks up, next to Reed and her eyes go wide in alarm.

“Relax, Susie, just me,” Tony says, grabbing up her hand to kiss it. Which, of course, doesn’t make Reed happy. But it does get his attention. “How’s the project going?”

“Project.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes. The plans that I had sent over from SHIELD. Is it done?” He watches Steve out of the corner of his eye as he examines stuff and looks it all over curiously.

“They were _your_ plans,” Reed says, straightening, interest lighting up in his eyes.

“Yup. Tony Stark. That’s me,” he says quickly, tired— _so_ tired—of introducing himself. God, when he gets back, he’ll never tire of his reputation preceding him again. But he grits his teeth under his smile and goes through the necessary information to get to work, the itch of an impending invasion beginning to burn under his skin. The machine done, Tony grabs Reed’s arm and leans in, “Listen. After this is all over, I need your help with something. Dimensional stuff. That’s your shtick. Will you help me?”

Richards looks mildly intrigued. “Well, assuming we survive—”

“We’ll survive,” Tony says harshly.

“Then yes. I admit, I’m a bit fascinated by—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks. I gotta go. Captain Fussypants over there is ready to go.” Reed nods, and Tony drags Steve out of the Baxter building. They get back to the helicarrier and discover Bruce has been handed off to people who will show him a lab where he might get to work. Tony, meanwhile, enters into a long series of conferences. First with Fury and then with Fury and Coulson. Then they tell Tony to introduce Bruce to the team. Which is hardly a team. So Tony has to quickly insert himself into their lives. And it’s awkward because he already knows who these people are, even if they are a little different. But they don’t know him, and they shy away from the familiarity until Tony tones it down some. It’s honestly exhausting.

He’s given a room, and he sleeps there maybe twice a week, keeping it the one place where he removes the armour. He knows that they don’t trust him as much because he keeps it on, but he feels safer with it. More in charge. He snorts to himself at the thought. That’s a good one for the therapists... But he does sleep in that small room. If this were his world, he would take over the couch in the lounge. But Nat still looks ready to murder him on the smallest whim, and he really doesn’t want arrows in his ass, so he avoids Steve’s cold confused looks and slinks off to his given room and takes a nap, having his brain wake him after six hours.

He thinks very seriously over a cup of coffee in the lounge about the issue of making a weapon to send the Skrulls packing. Plans are whirling around in his head for making the Skrull-detector somehow patched in to some sort of mobile unit—besides his suit when Clint sneaks up on him. He’s been keeping himself patched into the SHIELD network—and that includes the security system—so he just raises his voice to say, “Don’t even think about it, Barton.”

“Aw damn. Ruin all my fun, why don’t you. How did you even know I was there?”

“I’ve been explicitly instructed, _repeatedly_ , to not endorse or fund your kind of fun,” Tony says wryly. “Seeing as how it’s usually my kind of fun as well, and seeing as it’s usually spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e.”

“Wow,” Clint says, eyes widening. “Really?”

“Really,” Tony mutters into his coffee cup.

“What’s got you so down?”

“I’m debating about making a weapon.”

“And that’s a problem why?”

He sighs heavily, forgetting these people don’t know him. “I stopped making weapons.”

“Dude, Stark, you don’t exist. Stop getting mopey about it. I know jack shit about you except for the fact that you walk around in a fucking exoskeleton.”

“Thanks for reminding me asswipe....”

“Anyone would think you didn’t trust us,” he says lightly, moving to the counter to grab himself a mug.

“You don’t trust me.”

“True.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s just disorienting. And sorry for not trusting people to ship me off to a looney bin the next time I turn around.”

“Is that where you came from?” Clint says lazily.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” Tony snaps.

“Okay. I knew. Seriously? I mean, you don’t look like a crazy person. Except for the Einstein thing you’ve got going on with your hair.”

“Thanks,” he mutters back into his coffee mug.

“Though seriously. If it’s a weapon that’s gonna save the world, I think you can probably justify it to yourself, right?”

“It was all so different in my world...” He thunks his mug to the tabletop. “I don’t know what to do this time around. I mean. Skrulls. We could blow their ship—hey wait. Okay. Hold on...” Tony trails off, thoughts immediately assembling in his head. “Okay. We need Thor, Carol Danvers, and myself.”

“Who’s Carol Danvers?”

“Miss Marvel? You don’t have a Miss Marvel?”

“Oh. Yeah. Forgot about her.”

Tony rolls his eyes. Seems to be doing a lot of that. “Awesome. Can you get somebody on that?”

“Coulson’s in your pocket, not mine,” Clint says. “In fact, it’s kind of funny how the whole of SHIELD is now in your pocket.”

“You totally have an in with Coulson. And you know nothing about about me?” Tony smirks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t worry, Barton. I’m not in your head. Relax. I’m not in anybody’s head. I am in all of the SHIELD systems though,” he says, wondering why he is spilling that particular secret to Barton of all people.

“Riiiiiight,” Clint drawls, sipping on his own mug of coffee. “And you wonder why they stuck you in the looney bin.”

“It’s because of the looney bin that I can do this, douche-wad.”

Clint snorts and makes to walk away. **  
**

Sipping his coffee calmly, Tony locks the door and kills the lights. **  
**

**“** What the hell...?” **  
**

**“** Oh sorry... That’s the sound of you starting to believe me.” **  
**

Clint whips around and, through the infrared cameras, Tony can see him in his head, wide-eyed and jaw dropped a little. It’s enough to send him cackling. “Hey. Not funny, Stark. Not even the littlest bit funny.” **  
**

Tony laughs more. **  
**

**“** Was that you?” **  
**

He flicks the lights on. “Oh, they’re back on.” **  
**

**“** Seriously,” Barton says, tugging at the door. “Was that you?” **  
**

**“** I don’t know.” He grins, looking pointed at the coffee-maker as it geared itself up and made another cup. **  
**

**“** Stark!” Barton stares at it, wide-eyed. **  
**

He cackles. “This is hilarious... God, I miss Jarvis,” he says suddenly, mirth vanishing. **  
**

**“** Who knows?” Clint demands, yanking the door open as it unclicks. **  
**

**“** Just you,” Tony mutters. “Sorry... Must be tired.” **  
**

**“** Uh... Right. Well. I gotta... Go play target practice...” And then Clint’s gone. **  
**

Tony sighs and tromps back to the lab where he spends time working on something that can make a call to Asgard. The world is just so far behind without him... He’s got to make everything from scratch. He really should do upgrades on his suit, but between getting everyone up to speed and taking care of the Skrulls, and taking defensive protective measures for the Earth, and getting Reed the plans for the anti-Skrull detector, and coming up with something that’ll deter them from attacking the Earth... Tony honestly just doesn’t have time.

He wakes hours later to a hand on his shoulder. And jumps, nearly falling off his stool.

Steve looks sheepish and flushes, apologising profusely.

“Steve. Hey. It’s fine...” Tony says tiredly.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Steve’s brow furrows down, getting that worried look that he always does whenever he fusses over Tony.

He smiles sleepily at it, his heart beating warmer. “I love it when you play mother hen...”

Steve looks confused, taking his hand back.

Tony blinks at him and then shakes his head with a mental curse. “Sorry. Sorry, Cap. I—”

“Are we...a couple? In your universe?” Steve asks, still staring at him strangely.

Tony gives him a crooked grin. “Yeah. Best damn thing in my entire life too...”

Steve stares at him a moment before he turns and leaves.

Tony stares after him a moment, sighs, shoulders sagging. Well. There goes that... He gets back to work before his thoughts threaten to break his heart.


	7. Chapter 7

Another fifty-one hours and Tony has everything nearly planned out. He and the rest of the heavy-hitters (namely, Thor and Carol) from the team are going to take a ship out to meet the Skrulls before they even land. Then Tony’ll blow ‘em to Hell. Steve and the planet will be safe, and Fury and Coulson will take care of the red tape, he’ll be able to work on an interdimensional gate or something, team up with Richards, and then he’ll be able to get back home to his Steve, and his team. 

He’s integrated the Skrull-detector into his suit, as well as the anti-Skrull-ship weapon (new name pending). Now he needs to convince Fury to give him a space-worthy plane that he should not expect to get back. He’s a little out of touch with what the rest of the team has been doing, even with Extremis. And, well, he uses the term ‘team’ loosely. They’re a bit of a disaster. Like they were at first. Luckily, it won’t take a full turn-out to discourage the Skrulls if everything goes to plan. Still, Tony has been left alone to his planning, his plotting, and his building. They don’t come looking for him, and they don’t tell him what to do. When he pauses to think about it, it makes him wonder if Fury’s planning something behind his back. Of course, being Fury, Fury is _always_ planning something behind his back. Tony sighs and stands to stretch. His stomach rumbles, reminding him of his humanity. Leaving his tools to the workbench, he wanders out down the halls towards the mess in search of food.

Pausing in the door, he smiles a bit to see Steve, Clint, and Natasha all sitting together, eating. Before it makes his heart cringe as he thinks of home.

Then Clint looks up and sees him. He looks suspicious for a moment, but covers it quickly. “Stark! Wow, man. You look like shit. I think maybe zombies are real.”

“Thanks...” Tony drawls and clunks towards them. He gets an itch to get out of the suit. But he pushes it aside with the rest of his neurotic worries. “Any left for me?” He misses Thor. Hopefully he should be back to Earth soon, seeing as Tony was able to make contact with him in Asgard, and tell him that Midgard would appreciate his help. Thor, of course, was willing and said he would be there soon.

“Get yourself a plate, Stark,” Tasha says coolly. “Assuming you know where they are.”

“I’m not usually a fan of SHIELD fare, but yes, I do know my way around the mess...” he grumbles. People sort of clear out of his way as he approaches, so there’s no real line for him to wait in for food. He slops whatever looks edible onto his plate (it'll be better than Morton's slop fare) and then sinks onto the bench next to Steve. Sneaks a look at him. Steve’s focus is on his food. Nat is looking at him like he’s some specimen to be studied. 

“What?” he says, shovelling a bite into his mouth. 

“So you are human,” she says.

“Ha, ha,” Tony grumbles. But he eats, aware that they’re all watching him. Waits it out a little while and then looks up. “Okay. What. You obviously are thinking something. What’s the matter?”

Steve drops his eyes, Clint quickly looks elsewhere, and Natasha looks at both of them before tossing her head with a martyred sigh and mutters Russian that Tony’s pretty sure means ‘coward.’ 

“We’re unsure of the plan, Stark.”

“The plan is,” Tony says around a mouthful of food, “we kick the Skrulls’ asses, hand them back on a silver platter, and then send them packing for their ugly Skrull mothers in a galaxy far, far away.”

They stare at him. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Tony says fiercely, all the memories of the confusion flooding back concerning the Skrulls. “They’re manipulative pieces of shit! They will screw you up and grin while doing it! Their queen commands them. They want to ruin us and drive us apart. They will take us down and destroy our entire planet so they can take over. And since we’re the first and last line of defense, they’ve got to take us out to do it. So this has to stop them before they even _reach_ the planet, otherwise we’re screwed. Not as badly as last time, because I’m here and I know all and I can help us. But we’d still be screwed because they’re persistent and devoted to their cause, but I don’t like getting screwed, except for by my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend!” Clint blurts.

Steve flushes and ducks his head.

Tasha stares at him, eyes going wide a second before returning to her usual blank face, exchanging a look with Clint.

“Even I’m not that fast...” Tony drawls. “No, in my universe, the good Captain and I are happily screwing like bunnies. It’s fantastic.”

Clint and Steve choke, Natasha’s lips pursing in displeasure.

“TMI, Stark. TMI. I don’t need to know that about _anyone_ , let alone someone I don’t know and hardly like,” Clint says finally.

“Aww, I’m hurt,” he jokes. Pauses. And realises that he _is_. He drops his gaze to his meal, suddenly not hungry. 

“Tony,” Steve says softly.

And suddenly that’s the last thing that he can stand because he’s on his feet. “Got work to do,” he mutters and leaves. Back in his work space, he shuts the door and sinks down against it, heart pounding hard while his eyes burn and his breath comes fast. “Fuck,” he says under his breath. But it’s not enough. “Fuck!” he says louder. Repeats it. And again until he shouts the word. Drops his head to his iron knees.

Until there’s a knock at the door. “Tony?”

Dammit. Steve. He sighs and shifts to his left to get to his feet so Steve won’t see that he was sitting on the ground like a hurt child. “What is it, Steve?”

“Can I come in?”

He sighs again. He wasn’t ready to deal with this. But he really wants Steve. He swallows. “Yeah.” His voice comes out choked and he clears it and tries again. “C’mon in, Steve.”

Head poked in first, Steve looks a little brow-beaten and cautious. “I... I’m sorry, Tony,” he says, inching through the door, clicking it softly closed behind him.

“What are _you_ sorry for?” he replies tiredly. 

“I...” Steve blinks, looking faintly surprised. “Didn’t we hurt your feelings?”

Tony stares at him for a full thirty seconds before the snicker bubbles out. Turns into a snort of laughter, and then he’s doubled over, cracking up so hard his belly hurts. 

“Tony...? What...?”

It’s the hurt in Steve’s voice that sobers him. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry...!” he gasps, catching his breath, straightening and wiping away laugh-tears. “That’s just... Oh Steve. That’s...” He swallows around the tightness in his throat. “I miss you,” he croaks quietly.

Steve’s face blanks out. “I’m not yours.”

“I know, I know...” He’s _so_ tired. He’s been working so hard to save a world that isn’t his. Gives Steve a small grin as he inches closer to the man. “Can I pretend?”

“Wouldn’t that be cheating,” Steve says flatly. 

“Fuck. Just for a minute?” Pathetic. Pathetic Tony Stark. Needy little bastard, going so far as to cheat on your boyfriend? He won’t let himself think ‘is it really cheating if it’s still Steve?’ because that’s a dangerous hole to fall into. “Never mind!” he says before Steve can open his mouth and shoot him down anyway. He looks away.

Steve is silent behind him. “I should...”

“Go? Yeah, it’s fine. I understand. It’s fine. Shouldn’t have... Ignore that. We’ll just pretend that never happened.” He thunks back to his worktable, picking up tools, mind whirring through schematics and final plan details.

“I just wanted to apologise. This must be...hard for you,” Steve says.

Tony snorts. “Steve. I understand you’re trying to help. But it’s not going to. I’m alone here. You’ve got the team. And trust me, they will adore you. Just gotta loosen up a bit. So don’t try and console me. My goal is to save your asses and then get mine home.” He looks at Steve over his shoulder. Cold and unpersonable Steve. Stiff and unsure of himself as a human being. It’s kind of painful seeing him so closed off. 

“I...”

“Don’t worry about it, Cap,” he insists.

“I still feel I should apologise,” Steve says.

“Fine. We’re good, it’s fine,” Tony says roughly. He can’t deal with this any longer. Steve’s unwitting earnestness. It’s like a goddamn _chick_ _flick_. And he doesn’t need the distraction. “I uh... gotta finish this stuff up.”

Steve doesn’t move for a moment. Then turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. 

****  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The best part about keeping busy is that it means that Tony doesn't have the time or energy to think about feelings. Specifically how he just fatefully embarrassed himself while talking to Steve. He supposes the Extremis helps with this process, because his brain is so full it's a miracle that he hasn't collapsed. Which is why he does actually head back to his room to catch up on sleep, get out of the suit, and...well. A man has needs.  
He can afford a short rest because things are on track. The Skrulls don't seem to be gearing for an attack yet. Carol is on the helicarrier and integrating herself into the team. Thor's on Earth and has been lounging around with the team for the past three days as well.  
“Stark.”  
He turns. “Coulson.”  
“Are you going to get some rest?”  
Shifting his helmet under his arm, he faces him fully and sighs. “I am.”  
“Good.”  
He tilts his head at him, eyes narrowing a bit. The man obviously has something to say.  
“You know, for someone so insistent on having a team, you sure do seem to be playing lone-wolf a lot.”  
Tony snorts, lifting his chin. “I'm not gonna be sticking around, Coulson. Much as I love you guys, I've got my own set back home.”  
Coulson nods at that, looking thoughtful. “Just keep in mind that, while not to spoil your sense of hope, it might not happen. Or at least, not for a while, so I think it would be nice for everyone if you maybe got to know us a little bit better.”

“Haven't you heard? That _is_ the problem,” Tony says, throwing up a hand. He really just wants a nap. “I know everyone else too well, and you know me not at all.”

Coulson nods again. “And whose fault is that.”

“Oh. Wait. You mean you wanted me to socialise instead of save all your asses?” He pressed a disbelieving hand to his chest, fingers clinking against his chest plate.

“Stark,” Coulson says reproachfully. “You know what I mean. I'm not going to argue with you. But if you want to keep playing solo-soldier, then keep it up. Meanwhile, I think the team, that you force-assembled, is meeting this evening to get together for watching a film or something.”

He jerks. “Really?”

Coulson's lips twitch in a smile that Tony just _knows_ is smug. “Yes. The Captain wanted me to invite you.”

Scowling, Tony turns to leave. “Couldn't do it himself?”

“Eight o'clock, Tony.”

He rolls his eyes and turns to head back to his room, waving a hand over his shoulder. Pushing open his door, Tony closes it behind him and sighs. Tony tosses the helmet onto the bed, wincing as it clangs when it bounces to the floor. He strips the suit off with practised ease, setting all the pieces on the table in order. Stretching, Tony pauses in front of the mirror. Jesus, he looks terrible. Tony washes his face first, sets his mental alarm for 7:30, and then drops, face-down onto the bed. He's out in seconds, and doesn't dream. Thankfully. Tony's had enough bad dreams as it is.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony wakes with a start when the alarm goes off. 7:30. Sets the snooze for another twenty five minutes. He can decide then if he wants to go be social. He jolts awake, however, in fifteen, his head informs him, from a knock on the door. Groaning, he rolls off the small uncomfortable cot that SHIELD must have bought in bulk from army surplus rejects and pads over to the door, pulling it open, still half-asleep.

“Tony!”

“Steve...?” He blinks at him, confused.

Offering him a small smile, Steve straightens, like he's acting on orders and says, “I wanted to stop by and see if you wanted to come watch a movie with us.”

Steve. Steve came in person. “I need coffee.” Steve is looking at him, interested. Eyes wandering. Tony looks down at himself. Oh. The suit. He's not wearing the suit. Steve hasn't _seen_ him not wearing the suit. Tony sighs. Not affection. “Steve.”

“Would you like to join us?” 

He never could resist Steve's hopeful face. Tony sighs. “Yeah. Sure.”

Steve beams at him. 

Tony is kind of stunned to see the honest expression take over Steve's face. Brings to his mind all the memories he can play back like video in his head, every time he did something that Steve liked or that Steve approved of or that Steve was proud of Tony for or that Tony shared with Steve.

"Are you okay? Tony?" Steve's worried face fills his vision again. 

Startling out of it, he flashes a quick smile and turns to go put the suit on. But Steve grabs his arm.

"Without the suit," he says gently.

Waffling a minute, Tony finally swallows and nods. "I'm half the man," he jokes weakly.

Steve just shakes his head. "You're more of a person. Come on."

"What are we watching?" Tony steps out of his room after Steve feeling bare and vulnerable. Walks close to the wall. He mentally locks the door and makes sure that no one who isn't him can get in. And follows Steve down the hall. 

"I don't know; I think it's something Agent Coulson picked."

"Of course it is." Has to be Steve- and Thor-safe. And shit, he hasn't even seen Thor yet. But Steve flashes him a smile, and that's fine with Tony. "Have you seen many modern films yet, Steve?"

"No. I've been catching up on world history. Haven't really had time for the entertainment part of history..." The smile he gives Tony this time is small and self-deprecating, and Tony wishes he could take it away.

"You know, in my... uh. The team in my universe. We did regular movie nights. To get you and Thor caught up on 'Midgardian' culture, we say. And. And that part's true, but it's also so we can spend time together and shit. Just relax. And somehow or another, there's always somebody who hasn't seen a classic. Like Nat. She hadn't seen Back to the Future. Which is indeed a classic." He pauses, looking over at Steve. Who is staring at him. "What."

"Sorry you're stuck here," Steve says softly, that stupid, stupid, heart-breaking expression of sympathy on his face. 

Tony looks away. "Yeah," he says thickly. "Now I guess I know a bit more about how you feel, waking up and not knowing a soul..."

Steve dropped his eyes as well.

Shit. "Sorry. I just. There's a lot of history—wow not better," he says, laughing, sounding a bit crazy to even his ears.

"Stop. It's fine. Hey. At least for now, we're all part of the same team, right?" Steve stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

Tony forces the smile and nods. "Yeah. Sure." Damn Steve's sunny optimism. But Tony follows him into the lounge where the not-yet-Avengers have taken over. Natasha has crammed herself into the corner of the sofa so her back is covered. Clint is perched on the arm next to Nat. He's angled himself out, so his back is towards her. Thor takes up most of the side of the sofa, sprawling like he's used to a larger throne. Coulson has seated himself apart in a standard little metal chair, brought in from who-knows-where. He has to look around, finally seeing Bruce curled into the corner, apart from everyone, book in his lap. Shit. Tony had forgotten about him. And is immediately flooded with guilt. So waves at him with a weak smile.

"Hey! He's not a robot!" Clint says as they enter.

"Har-dee-har-har," Tony grouses. But folds his arms across his chest all the same. “Thor! Hey, buddy, how's it going. Why did no one leave any room for us? We not good enough for your sofa? I could buy—” He breaks off with a suppressed sigh. No he can't. He doesn't have anything. No assets. Nothing. He can't so much as purchase a granola bar from the vending machine. Looks at Steve. “Uh, so where we gonna sit?”

Thor looks him over. “You are the man of iron about whom I have heard?”

“That would be me, buddy. Nice to meetcha; we'll be great friends.”

“C'mon,” Steve says quietly, grabbing his wrist in a way that makes Tony's heart ache. Steve sank onto the floor in front of the sofa, tugging Tony's hand. “Let's sit.”

He swallows and folds himself down onto the floor next to Steve. Makes himself look away from him to Coulson. “So. What're we watching?”

Sighing, Coulson rolls his eyes, put-upon. “Apparently we're watching Robin Hood Men-in-Tights.”

“Clint's suggestion,” Tony drawls.

"Hey. Don't be knocking it, Stark. It's fucking funny."

"Not arguing," he says with a shrug. Just mutters, “Of course you _would_ choose Men-in-Tights...”

"Good," Clint says while Coulson fiddles with the remote.

Shifting to get more comfortable, Tony blinks, automatically cuing the movie up to start at the beginning. Coulson mutters to their right. 

"Can we get the lights? Some—"

Tony flicks them off.

Beside him, Steve jumps. “Did the power...?”

"I didn't..." Coulson says.

"I did," Tony says, not even thinking about it, watching the screen.

"Are you psychic?" Steve asks, looking at him, confused. Behind them, Thor says at the same time, "Do you have magical abilities?"

"Fucking magic," Tony spits. "No. Jesus. Clint, you didn't actually spill the beans?"

"Figured it was your secret..."

Tony cranes his head to look at him. "Huh. Uh. Thanks... I've got sciency tech abilities. Courtesy of the looney bin SHIELD locked me up in." He sighs gustily when there's silence behind him. "Listen. Let's just watch the movie, and then we can talk about the horrible experiments they did on me later? Bruce, baby, come sit on my other side. Not gonna bite, I promise. Unless you ask me to," Tony babbles to get everyone's mind off his issues. Unsurprisingly, Bruce stays where he is. Tony sighs and slumps, arms folded tightly across his chest for the movie. 

"Stark," Coulson says quietly when Tony stands and makes to leave when the film is over.

He turned slowly, shoulders sagging. 

Coulson looks at the rest of the team and then back at him. "I didn't know."

"Don't care."

The man still looks unflappable as they step away from them all to the other side of the lounge. "I was not part of that decision process. And I just wanted to—"

"Too late. I don't care about your apologies," Tony replies flatly. "Don't need 'em. I'm just here to save your asses and then get home."

"You need to de—"

"I don't need to do anything. And you're not going to tell me to do something I don't want to do," he says tightly. "So fuck you very much, and listen to me. Steve needs a friend. Nat doesn't trust anyone except for Barton. Bruce needs a friend, someone who'll give him shit and not worry about him Hulking out. See if you can get Barton. Thor should tie everyone together if Steve leads. Then you'll have a pretty solid team. Get Danvers in there to be a heavy-hitter. Capische?" He stares hard at Coulson. He doesn't need apologies. He just needs to get shit done. He doesn't have time for it. He can think about it when he gets back to his team and his Steve. Right now? Right now, Tony doesn't have time to fall apart. 

Coulson stares back at him before giving a defeated sigh and dropping his eyes. "It would seem I have no choice."

"Damn straight." Turning on a heel, Tony leaves, stalking back to his room where his suit is still safe on lock-down.

"Tony!"

Fuck, now what. He whirls on Steve. "What."

Steve jerks back. "Oh. No. Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Steve. I..." He drags his fingers through his hair, reminding himself that he needs to shower. That his hair needs cutting.

"Sorry. I'm just... What can I do for you?"

"Are you okay?"

"Steve... I...I don't want to have this conversation."

"Okay. Okay, I understand. I just...want you to know. If you want to talk."

"Yeah," he says, a sad wry smile tugging at his lips. "You're always here. Listen. Banner needs a friend. I've been a shit one. Why don't you talk with him for a while. Big guy just wants a pal. Don't be afraid of the Hulk. The Hulk's not so scary."

Steve blinks at him, but before he can say anything else, Tony leaves him there. Trudges back to his tiny little room of ignominy. Drops onto the bed and sets his mental alarm for another four hours. As he drifts off into, hopefully, another REM cycle, he's left with the thought of how lonely they all are.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days pass in a blur of attempted (by others) socialisation (rejected by him) and insomnia. (People do tend to cling to things when there's suddenly the chance that they might go away.) He doesn't have time when there's so much to get done still. Tony hammers out the final details and informs all concerned parties of the plan.

"Absolutely not," Steve says when Tony finishes.

He sighs. Of course it's Steve. "It's not a discussion," he says firmly. "It's an informative exposition."

Steve folds his arms and puts on his stubborn stance. "There's no reason why I can't come too."

"Yes, there is."

"Okay," Fury interrupts. "This isn't a conversation, Rogers; Stark is is right about that."

Tony grins wildly, wishing he could have that recorded for posterity. Or maybe as his ringtone.

"If I'm supposed to be the leader of this team, then why would I be staying behind on this mission. Especially when it's so important?" Steve argues.

Expression promptly changing to grit teeth, Tony jumps in, "Can you breathe in space? Can you pilot a jet? Sorry to be cruel, but the last plane didn't do so well with you, yeah? So you're staying home on this one."

"Because I'm useless."

"Of course not!" Tony protests. Shit, wrong thing to say. "You're the least useless person I know! But Carol can fly the plane, and Thor and I can breathe in space. Should it come to that. Now we're going in a few hours. The Skrulls have kindly given us this window, and we need to take advantage of it before they change their mind." He turns to Fury. "All we need is the order."

Fury stares at him hard. "Then I guess we are a go."

"Sir!" Steve protests.

"I am sorry, Captain. But you're staying on ground for this one," Fury says calmly.

Steve's face may as well be carved from stone. He stalks out of the briefing room.

Tony doesn't really blame him. He's essentially been benched, and neither he nor Tony ever took that well. His world or not, however, it's a relief off his mind that Tony won't have to be keeping eyes on two instead of just himself.

"Stark," Fury barks, "I don't need you any crazier. Pay attention."

"Right," Carol says, speaking up for the first time, "so to clarify: I'm running a potential suicide mission?"

"Uh, _I_ plan on coming back," Tony says as if it were obvious.

Carol rolls her eyes.

"Verily, man of iron, this plan seems dependent on several factors that may not fall as you desire," Thor adds, a frown on the god's face.

He sighs wearily. "Listen. You guys just have to trust me, okay? Which is hard because you don't know me. But I know what I'm doing here. It would be inadvantageous for me to have the Skrulls succeed. I don't want that. That would be bad and ungood. I'm just trying to help you all out." They still look sceptical, but no more objections are raised and Fury gives them the go-ahead.

The walk to the runways feels a bit like a death march. Or Neil Armstrong's first march to his shuttle. Tony can't be sure. Carol and Thor at his back aren't the relief he thought they'd be either. Because while they are _at_ his back, they don't _have_ his back.

The rest of the Avengers are waiting top side of the helicarrier, and the wind is biting on Tony's face. Looking across those he knows well but who don't look back at him with the same recognition and trust, he feels more alone than ever. Everyone's turned up to see them off. Fury, Hill, Coulson, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Steve, and half the elite SHIELD staff.

"You can pilot this thing, right?" Tony whispers to Carol.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm trained to pilot—"

"A joke. It was a joke," he mutters with a sigh.

Carol huffs quietly and turns away to speak to Coulson. Probably to cover last minute details or something ridiculous like that.

“Do you feel well, Man of Iron,” Thor murmurs at his ear, filling the space Carol left.

Lips twitching upwards, Tony nods. “I'm fine, buddy.”

“You treat me with such familiarity. One does find it to be...disconcerting.”

“You don't need to—”

“But I find myself enjoying your company and confounding speech. I should like to be companions, and I look forward to riding into battle with you.” Thor claps him on the back and beams at him.

Grunting, Tony does smile at him. “Great, Thor. That's great. I'm glad you feel that way.”

“You do seem familiar to me. It is most confounding.”

Tony opens his mouth to comment on that, but then Fury is speaking.

“I expect check-ins, people. This is not an occasion for failure. We're facing an unfamiliar enemy; one, Stark assures me, who desires our end. I object to that. Stark's team is our main offensive. Everyone else will be our second wave. So we're going to have all jets scrambled. Now hopefully, we won't need to.” Fury sends Tony a sharp look. “However, it won't hurt to be fully prepared. Coulson and Hill. You're briefing our people. Stark. You're gone. Get your bird into the air. Best of luck.”

Tony nods and tromps towards the plane, face plate flipping down. As far as speeches go, from Fury, this one isn't so bad. Fury's only second to Cap as far as uplifting pep-speeches go.

“Stark!”

Glad Steve can't see his wince, Tony turns, one foot on the entry floor. Carol brushes past him with Thor. “What can I do ya for, Cap.”

Steve's lips tighten. “I just...are you sure you're okay? You...don't need another...you're not tired?”

“I'm good, Captain. Better with a good-luck kiss, but I assure you I am mission-capable.” He's done more in worse condition. Should everything go to plan, Tony shouldn't have to exert much effort at all. But then, when do things go as planned. He does enjoy the way Steve's cheeks flush at the teasing.

“I...” Steve clears his throat. “I'm sorry, I—”

“Easy, Cap. Just a joke,” he says for the second time, ignoring the way this one contains a lot less truth to it.

“I just wanted to say 'good luck.' And...come back.”

He sighs. “Of course. We'll be back in no time.” Tony's now patched into the nat-comm system of the jet, The First Wave (ironic and lame; Tony didn't name it, was probably Coulson), now that Carol has it powered up and ready. “How are we doing?” Tony asks over the private line to the cockpit.

“We're ready to go, as soon as you stop flirting with the other gorgeous blonde on the tarmac.”

He grins, hearing some vague protest from Thor, also in the cockpit. “Roger.” Then says to Steve, “Thanks, Cap. Listen. You've got the hard part. Waiting. Gotta go.” Patting Steve's shoulder, just to touch, even if it is through the suit, he turns and heads into the jet. Smacking the button to lift the gate, he joins Carol and Thor.

“Say goodbye?” Carol quips.

“Let's go.” Gripping the guide rail overhead, he ignores Carol and enters in their coordinates. Tony holds tight as Carol takes them up. He supposes he should feel apprehensive or...something other than the peculiar calm that has seemed to infect him. Tension is rolling off of Carol, and Thor is uncharacteristically silent. But all the numbers make sense. And being as entrenched in Extremis as he is, Tony can't bring himself to feel much of anything. He doesn't have time for it. He doesn't have time for Steve's pinched face like he wanted to say something else. He doesn't have time to think of Bruce trying to fade into the background, wringing his hands. He doesn't have time to contemplate Natasha's hard stare, Clint's appraising one, and Coulson's that's trying to tell him something. Because this is Tony's last hurdle before he can try to get home. He saves Earth, he gets to go home.

The alert bings in his head before the ship. The Skrulls are on their radar.

Tony tells the ship to cloak as their velocity slows in approach.

“Would you stop doing that?” Carol gripes. “It's creepy. Besides. I'm supposed to be piloting this ship. Or would you like to do that too?”

He shakes his head. “I asked for you for a reason.”

“Not because I'm pretty.”

“Well, my type is apparently gorgeous blondes,” he replies absently, already running an analysis of the Skrull mothership.

“Indeed?” Thor asks, turning to look at him.

Tony blinks, attention refocusing for a minute. “Oh God. I'm surrounded.”

Thor laughs. Carol chuckles softly, and then Tony joins in, and just like that the tension is gone.

Thor sobers first, looking at the Skrull ship. “They do seem a fearsome lot.”

Tony nods. “Yup. They're a rotten bunch of fu—well. Whatever. Thor. If you zap their engines, that'll put them dead in the water for short-range.” Chewing his lip, he calculates quickly. “Then I'm going to tell them to go home. Find somewhere else to colonise. Carol, you just hold us steady. Keep our course.”

“You speak Skrull?”

“They speak English,” Tony replies quietly. He nods to Thor. “Go for it, buddy.”

Thor scoots past Tony and heads aft to the port Tony built for him. A few minutes go by and then the bolts of lightning go shooting over the nose of the ship. The Skrull engines spark and go dead. The Skrulls probably won't leave, but Tony feels he should at least make the effort to convince them to go.

Tony opens a line through the Iron Man helmet. “I want to talk to your queen. To Veranke.” Folds his arms and waits for them to translate.

“Who are you? You have attacked us—”

“You're hovering out here, waiting to take over our planet,” Tony interrupts. “I'd like to convince you to rethink that decision. I'm giving you the opportunity to leave. Earth is protected. You will lose this battle.”

“Tony?” Carol says. “What's going on?”

Looping the audio through the cockpit, as Thor returns, Tony waits for a response.

“We have seen inside your ship. You are three. We are many.”

“Three is all we need for you.” Taps a foot as they wait again.

“I am Veranke. How do you know me? You threaten us,” a new voice says over the comms.

“Doesn't matter. Hey, you threatened us first. Just returning the favour. Go home, Veranke. This is not your new homeworld,” he states flatly.

“Tony, they're—”

“Trying to target us, yes, I know,” he says aloud to Carol, scattering the ship's signal. “Veranke. Try to fire on us and we will destroy you. Carol, scramble,” he mutters.

“The Skrulls—”

Switches channels back to the Skrulls. “Will not not survive this encounter. Which is more important? Your species' survival? Or trying to win this fight?”

“We are always victorious. You will not defeat us.”

“We—” He grits his teeth as the line cuts.

“Stark.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we're fighting,” Tony snarls, gripping the overhead bar as Carol swerves them out of the way of a missile. “Dammit. Thor! Up top again. Explode those before they get to us. Carol, bring us in closer. Keep up your fancy flying. _That's_ why I asked for you. I...am going to power up our anti-Skrull weapon. Then you'll need to get us in range. I'll let you know.” He turns to leave the cockpit.

“What's range?” Carol calls. “It looks like they're pulling out some more heavy artillery.”

“Uhh... Let me get back to you on that.” He runs back to the computer terminal that's hooked up to the Anti-Skrull Weapon. ASW. Anti-Skrull Weapon. That will do for now. Tony can do it all in his head, but he likes the screen and keyboard in front of him. “Carol, bring us back around,” he says through the ship's speakers.

“Jesus! That freaks the hell out of me, you know that?” Carol yells, turning the ship.

He doesn't hear. Calculations run through his brain. “Thor! Focus on their weapons bays!” Those are getting in the way. Ah. There.

Tony grabs onto the console as the ship shakes. “Fuck. They're mobile.” He gets a tracker on the sudden score of tiny Skrull ships that burst forth from the mothership and swarm towards them, buzzing around like gnats. He shoots the info over to Thor and Carol.

“How the hell am I supposed to avoid all of these!?” Carol shouts.

“Just do the best you can!” Tony grips the console and lets Extremis fly. Connections, right? He could do this. The Skrulls must have a system...

Search: systems. Search: Skrull. Connection: made.

Information transfer: Begin.

He groans as he's immediately inundated with too much foreign information. Shoving it back violently, he realises he's on his knees, the console dented from his iron enhanced grip.

“Tony? Tony, you okay back there?”

It almost sounds like concern from Carol, he thinks wryly. The ship swerves and he topples with a clang. “Fine,” he grunts, voice rough. “Just fine.” Maybe the Skrull system is a no-go.

“Really? Because that didn't sound fine!”

Gritting his teeth, Tony dives back into the First Wave's systems. The ASW is primed and ready, but now they're on the wrong side of the ship. Sorry Carol. And takes control. Spinning them dizzyingly over the top of the Skrull ship, Tony weaves them through the fighter planes. Their ship shakes with closely-exploded missiles. He vaguely hears Carol shouting obscenities at him and Thor bellows as well as he twists them out to be in range for the ASW.

He locks on.

Fires.

Fuck. Misses. Still damaging, but a miss. Tony curses and whips them about for another try. Only to have the ship rock and shudder wildly.

Damage.

Hull breach. Sector III. Bulkheads: seal. Air: redirect to cockpit. Iron Man suit: seal air-tight, circulate air.

Refocus.

Aim.

Fighter jets incoming; eighteen total. Goal?

Earth.

Five down. Thor.

Weapon powered. Ship on course.

Aim. Target locked.

Fire.

Mission accomplished. Success.

New directive: Skrull ships headed towards Earth. Pursue. Missiles locked.

Two down. Thor. Shouting. Carol.

Lock controls. Pursue.

Approaching atmosphere. Eleven targets. Three missile bays intact. Correction: two missile bays.

Target lock. Fire. 8 targets remain.

Target lock. Entering atmosphere.

Civilian danger? No. Target lock. Fire. Four targets remain. Pursue.

Danger: approaching civilian habitation.

Target lock. Fire. Two targets remain.

Danger: proximity alert. Foreign craft. Hailing. Friendly. SHIELD. Romanoff, Natasha. Barton, Clint. Rogers, Steve.

Tony blinks. Steve? What's he doing out here? Steve. No. His heart lurches. “Steve! Get out of here; we got this covered.”

“I'm here with air support.”

Tony grits his teeth, Carol and Thor's voices shouting as the plane veers. Shit. Diving back into Extremis, he levels them out and gives Steve's plane the order to head back to base. He doesn't want him out here. The two Skrull fighters remain. One has dropped below to try and get around them.

Civilian damages? 7%

Target lock. Aim. Fire. No civilian damage.

One enemy target remaining. Complete mission. Ignore Danvers, Carol; designation: Miss Marvel. Ignore Thor.

Target lock. No lock. Locate remaining enemy.

 _First Wave_ taking damage, wings, engine 2, hull integrity aft starboard side weakened. Probability of success before crash: 87%

Target lock. Aim. Fire. Miss.

Target entering civilian area. Friendly ships blockading. Enemy turning back.

Target lock. Aim. Fire. Mission success.

Caution. Seek landing immediately.

Caution. Seek landing immediately.

Caution. Seek la—


	10. Chapter 10

Tony wakes hot. Blinking eyes open, he's inundated with information. He groans. Turns on his side and pukes. Shudders with the sick feeling and faintly hears his name being called. Some sort of cloth runs over his face with cool water. 

“Stark?”

“Tony?”

“Wake up, you asshole!”

He bring his eyes up to look at Carol, Thor, Steve, and Coulson surrounding him, looking down with varied expressions of concern. Carol and Thor both look a little worse for wear, Carol bleeding from her head, Thor dirty and covered in small lacerations. The landing must not have been very smooth.

“Stvvvvv...” he murmurs, brain feeling woozy.

“Shhh, just stay still, Tony,” Steve says, looking back down at what he's doing.

Tony hears a clang. Oh. They're taking off his armour. “Wh'ng'on...?”

“I would advice you to stay still, Mister Stark,” Coulson says, pushing his hand back down. “You passed out, and you're not in very good condition.”

“B'fine....jssss gmmmee a m'nnnt.” Shit, is that him? Tony blinks, trying to get his brain back online. 

“Tony,” Steve snaps. “Just lie! Still!” He presses him down, a big hand across his chest.

Tony groans, a long, drawn out thing that sounds like a dying animal. His eyes roll back in his head and he passes out again.

When he wakes next, he's in an actual hospital, people once again murmuring around him. Fuck, why can't he just go home... He sees Steve, arms folded, brow furrowed like he doesn't understand something, talking to some man Tony's never seen in his life. The thought strikes him: Steve probably _doesn't_ understand what's going on. Tony's not been there for him. Not been there to explain things. Carol's leaning in the doorframe, Thor behind her, wringing his hands around Mjolnir's grip. Clint has managed to perch himself on the back of a chair, leaning against the wall, Tasha standing next to him. Bruce hovers next to the door, back against the shitty wallpaper. Coulson is with Steve, talking to what must be the doctor.

Taking note of his vitals via Extremis, Tony sighs and shuts off the stupid beeping heart monitor. Regretting his decision when everyone is looking at him, the doctor lurching in his direction. “That was me,” he rasps. “I'm fine.” A general sigh around the room and everyone relaxes again.

“Glad to see you conscious again,” Steve says.

Tony nods. “Yeah, sorry about that. Won't do it again,” he quips.

“Not quite the goal hoped for, I believe,” Coulson says quietly. 

“He'll be fine with some rest,” the doctor inserts. “He just needs some food, some fluids, and plenty of rest. You are, sir, sleep-deprived, borderline malnourished, and dehydrated. You seem to be recovering quickly, however. There are some strange things going on in your body, sir—”

“You can call me 'Tony,'” he says tiredly, closing his eyes. 

“Yes, well, since we had a bit of an issue getting an IV in, you're going to have to drink and eat.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes a bit. “Fine. I feel like I'm centre stage to some medical drama or something. People want to clear out?”

“Excuse us for being...concerned,” Nat says, gliding out of the room. Clint isn't far behind, and Bruce is right on his heels. And once they leave, the rest of them sort of peter out. Steve hesitates, giving Tony a strange look before he also shuffles out. Which leaves him, Coulson, and the Doctor.

“That was dangerous, Stark.”

He rolls his eyes again. “I did what I had to do, Coulson. Don't get your panties in a twist.”

“Dangerous to not only you, but the rest of your team. Carol had to emergency land the craft—”

“Which she excels at doing, hence me suggesting her for this mission.”

Arching an eyebrow, Coulson drawls, “So you expected to crash.”

“No, but I figured it was a high probability.”

“So you planned a suicide mission with two other members of the—”

“Oh Coulson. Save me your bullshit and get to the point,” Tony says tiredly. “We both know we have better things to be doing than analyse my motivations and actions. I always planned on getting home.”

Coulson is silent a moment, frowning. Then he shrugs. “We'll talk later, Stark. Get some food, water, and rest. I'll be around.”

The doctor has been looking over his charts, and finally looks up when Coulson leaves.

“I'll be fine, doc. Just bring me some food, a drink, and I'll be fine.”

“You did suffer a sort of stroke, sir—Tony. I would recommend you take it easy. We were unable to determine the cause...”

He says more, but Tony tunes him out, drifting. It doesn't matter. Earth is safe. At least he'd been able to accomplish that much. Eventually everyone files out and leaves him be to sleep. Which he does. For a while.

“You were never supposed to have succeeded.”

The voice startles Tony out of his dozing, wondering why Extremis hadn't alerted him to the intruder. “Doom?!” he blurts. “What the hell are you talking about? What are you doing here? And how do you know me?”

Victor von Doom clasps his hands behind his back, pacing at the foot of Tony's bed. “I crafted the spell.”

Tony gapes. “That transported me here!?”

Doom tilts his head at Tony. “Transported? You have not been transported anywhere.”

Tony snorts. “Uh-huh. Pull my other leg. I would recognise my world. I don't exist here.”

Doom shakes his head. “This is your world. Though in a sense, very much not. You have merely been erased from it.”

What... “You son of a bitch!” he gapes stupidly.

“Do not impugn my mother, Stark.”

Struggling to a sitting position, Tony sneers at him, bringing up the lights in the room. He's meanly satisfied when Doom starts. “Do you know what they did to me?!”

“Calm down, Stark; your heart is beating erratically.”

“Why should you care?” Tony snaps. “You _erased_ me! Why didn't you just kill me!?”

Acknowledging this with a nod, Doom stills. “I can appreciate another brilliant mind. I did not want to destroy it. Merely remove it from my path for a while. You should not have known. Some of the details of the spell seemed to have not worked as I had planned.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Why are you telling me this.” Fuck. That would explain why his codes still work at SHIELD.

“I thought it fair that you know the sort of power I have at my disposal,” Doom says quietly. He moves closer.

“So?” Tony questions, leery. “Gonna explain the rest of your dastardly plan?” He raises the bed and leans back into the pillows, arms folded.

“You are curious.”

“Damn straight I'm curious! You deleted me! I think I deserve to know why.” Deleted. Tony has been deleted from the world. All of the influences he's had. All of the work he'd accomplished. All of—oh shit. Steve. _Fuck_. _Steve_. His world drops out beneath him, leaving Tony gripping at the sheets, air feeling useless to his lungs. “Oh my God,” he rasps. He blinks the dryness away from his eyes. “ _Fuck_.” Steve— _his_ Steve—has been right here the entire time. “You _fucking_ asshole!” 

“Beg you pardon.”

Anger blooms bright and endless in his chest. His Steve... So close. So _fucking_ close to him the entire time. The _entire_ time. And he didn't...he didn't _know_. “You're fucking telling me, Doom. Everything,” Tony says flatly, too far beyond anger for emotion.

He's silent a moment, taking in Tony's steely expression. “Very well. You were not going to stay as you were for the rest of your life. Lost in non-existence. I was going to bring you back. As much as it pains me to admit it, you are far too brilliant a mind to remain lost forever. I would have reinstated you. After I had made the world mine.”

He groans “World domination. Always world domination. Seriously, Doom? Think I would have let that stand? When you brought me back? How was that going to work, by the way? Just—poof! Everyone now knows Tony Stark again?! Not to mention you screwed up some serious shit here. This is not okay. Do you realise I nearly went crazy in a _crazy_ home?! How's that for irony!”

“You think you are an expert at everything, Stark! Always having an answer!” Doom snaps. “I would have made our world into something greater! I had plans!”

“Aaah...” Tony sighs in sudden understanding. “You didn't anticipate the Skrulls...”

Doom is still a moment and then concedes with a nod. “I did not anticipate the Skrulls.”

Shaking his head in numbed amazement, Tony just stares. “You son of a bitch. Here I thought... I don't even know what I thought. Do you know what they did to me, Doom? Do you, Victor?”

Doctor Doom remains silent.

“They told me I was crazy, locked me up, and _experimented on me_!” he shouts. The lights flicker and the keycard entry door clicks locked. “They stuck something in my veins that could have killed me! They barely fed me, _poisoned_ me, and kept me under constant watch!”

“Mr. Stark—”

“Oh ' _Tony_.' _Please_!” he sneers. “You've screwed me hard and well-enough that we can afford the familiarity, don't you think?”

“I did not inte—”

“Don't talk to me about intentions, _Victor_ ,” he says lowly, glaring at the metal mask. “You don't get to do that. Fix it.”

“How do you mean?”

“What do you mean 'how do I mean!' Fix it!” he orders shrilly.

“It is hardly that simple, Mr. Stark.”

“Uh-uh. Not buying it. You didn't get what you wanted anyway, so you sure as hell better _fix it_.” He stares at Doom expectantly.

“I am not bullied by you, Mr. Stark.”

“'Tony.' And, don't care. You're going to fix this. Because I am sure as hell not staying like this, cool or not.”

“It...would not matter. You will remain so. Your changes. You will remember everything.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony takes a steadying breath. “What. The _fuck_. Do you. Mean.”

“I mean that I cannot change it. Time has moved forward—”

“ _You changed time_! _Change it back_!”

“Stark. Calm down and listen to me!” Doom bites out. “Be logical! Or have you lost that.”

Tony sneers at him but keeps silent, glowering. “Explain. _Now_.”

“I changed time. I cannot travel it. I may change points—”

“Speaking off—fucking get to it.”

Doom sighs. “Even if I change your existence back into being, time has moved forward.”

“So all the events that have occurred since my non-existence will still have happened. Since the point in time of my non-existence. You son of a bitch.”

“Again: I ask you not to impugn—”

“Shut up, Victor.” He pauses, quiet a moment before tacking on, “You bastard.” Just so he gets one in on both parents.

Doom sighs again.

“So what about everyone else? Their lives are completely different because I'm not here. Not to brag, but apparently I'm kind of important.”

“Their memories of these alternate events will seem as a dream. They might remember some of what has happened, but they will fade,” Doom says, shifting his weight.

“Good,” Tony says, voice like steel. “Do it.”

He nods. “I can. But it will take me some time.”

“Don't care. Do it.”

“Stark.”

“If you don't, so help me I will destroy your everything, Doom. When I can get up from this bed, I will come for you. Physically. But not before I wreck you digitally. I can be everywhere. Any electronic system. Want a demonstration? I can empty your bank account. If you haven't noticed, I'm currently out a fortune,” he threatens.

“No need,” Doom says slowly. “I believe you. No need for power plays.”

“No. You need to understand what sort of power is at my disposal,” Tony mirrors flatly, locking eyes with Doom.

Silence stretching between them, Doom ends it with a curt nod. “I do, of course, understand.”

“Good. Now get out.” Tony clicks the door open. “See you never, Doom.” He waits until he was gone until Tony lowers the bed back down a bit for him to recline, shutting his eyes. Of course it is then that he has visitors. A visitor. Steve. Of course Steve.

“Who was that, Tony?” Steve asks, frowning after Doom's retreating back. “Was that...Doctor Doom? Are you okay?!”

“Yes, the miserable bastard,” Tony says derisively. “And yes, I'm fine. Come here, Steve.”

He walks closer obediently.

Tony smirks. Ever the soldier. Holds out a hand towards him. “Humour me,” he says softly.

Steve sits in the chair next to him, grabbing Tony's hand gently, hesitantly. “How are you feeling?”

He smiles his first real smile in a long time. “Much better. It's all going to be fine.” Not that he should put his faith in Doom, but he has ways to keep in touch. And threaten if need be.

“You really shouldn't be so reckless,” Steve says quietly after a minute. “I know you think you don't have people here who care, but—”

“No, it's fine. I think I'm done being reckless,” Tony says. For a little while at least. He smiles sleepily at Steve. “Will you stay a while?”

“I'm not...your...”

“I know.” He shuts his eyes. “But you will be...” Smiles again because he can feel the confusion wafting off Steve. “'Night.”

“Morning, actually. But get some rest.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

It doesn't happen until four days later. Steve's taken to coming by and holding his hand. Tony doesn't need to stay in the hospital, but ironically it's the place he feels the most comfortable. His tiny SHIELD room just seems depressing, and they aren't big enough to share, even if he did feel he could ask Steve to room with him. He can lock the hospital room door any time he wants, and no one can override it. (Though he does program a failsafe where if he goes unconscious, the door automatically unlocks.) The doctors don't like it. Tony also has great access to the cameras and can track all traffic, incoming and outgoing. He's fed daily, and apparently, he's someone special (which he knows, but no one else in this stupid altered reality seems to know), because he gets pretty good food. For a hospital. They even bring him cheeseburgers.

But it happens four days later, Steve napping, head next to Tony's hip. Tony's drawing in the air with a finger. Steve stirs, lifting his head and scrubbing at his face like a gorgeous blonde giant of a toddler. 

“Tony...?”

“What's up, Cap?”

Steve looks around. “Where...why are you in a hospital? What happened?”

Tony beams. But has to test it anyway. “Hey gorgeous. How do you feel?”

“I'm...” Steve frowns. “Wow. I am...really disoriented. Did I hit my head?” But he doesn't baulk at the term of endearment.

“Oh thank God. Come kiss me,” he says eagerly, reaching out with grabby hands. But Steve's still frowning. Tony mentally checks himself out of the hospital and texts Happy to pick him up. “Steve! Kiss me! I'll explain everything else later!” After Steve kisses his doubts away.

Hesitating only another moment, Steve stands and bends over Tony, one hand spread over his chest, the other cupping his cheek, lips meeting lips.

Tony lifts his head to meet him eagerly, throwing his arms around Steve. Making small noises into Steve's mouth, he gives a yank and Steve topples and collapses on top of Tony.

“Jesus...Tony!” Steve gasps. “What are you—what's going on?”

“I love me. I love you. I love being me. I love having you. We're going home, I am going to pin you to whatever convenient surface I can find, and we're not doing anything save for really enthusiastic sex for the rest of the day. Understand?”

Sputtering, Steve rolls to the side so he's not crushing Tony.

“Alright! Get up! We're leaving!” He slides out of the bed, detaching sensors and other shit that doesn't mean anything to him now.

“Tony...! Tony, wait! You...love me?”

He freezes. “Oh. Guess I haven't said it yet, huh?” Flashes Steve a sheepish grin. “Yeah, Cap—Steve. I do. Love you.” It makes his day when Steve beams at him. “Now let's go! I'll explain everything in the car, okay? Happy will be here in five.” GPS told him so. He strips off the hospital gown and hears Steve gasp. “What,” he says defensively. “I didn't eat well for a while. I'll gain it back. Especially now that you'll cook for me again!”

“Your...your chest!”

He looks down at his smooth chest, drawing his fingers over where the reactor should be. “Yeah,” he says with a self-deprecating smile. “I...that's one of those things I'll have to tell you about... Come on.”

“Tony, I had the weirdest dream...”

“I know, honey, I know.” He finishes dressing and drags Steve down to the front entry where Happy waits to take him—take _them,_ home. Because things are going to be okay now. He'll work out all the kinks. And hey. He's got a whole new armour to design. 

The rest of the team is at home when they get there. Clint and Nat keep eyeing one another, and they both give Tony a Glance when he walks in. 

“Boom baby!” he says, without the kicked in door. “I'm back!”

“Where hast thou been, friend Stark?” Thor said, wandering into the room with a big bowl of popcorn. Bruce follows him with some sodas. He starts when he sees Tony. Looks around, pauses, and finally takes a seat on the sofa. He blinks at Tony.

“We about to have movie night?” So long as the memory of _last_ movie night is erased. Tony grins.

“Yes!” Thor says, question forgotten.

So Tony plops himself down next to Bruce, making up for how he treated him like shit in world-without-himself. Steve sinks down next to him with a small smile.

“Was it real?” Bruce whispers next to his ear.

Tony looks at him. “Yeah.”

Bruce shudders. “Jesus...”

“Later,” Tony says quietly as the intro for Robin Hood Men-in-Tights begins. He groans. “Are you kidding me?”

Clint shrugs. “Just felt like watching it.”

Tony folds his arms across his chest and scowls at the screen. Steve's hand warms his arm. “What?”

“Just enjoy it,” Steve says quietly with a smile. “I like this one. Besides,” his voice drops more, “I'll make it up to you later.”

He grins. He's totally on board with that. Now that the nearest-horizontal-surface plan seems to be out.

Later, in bed, Steve is remapping Tony's chest. “Where'd it go? I don't understand. None of this is making sense, Tony. You're...different.”

Arms looped around him, Tony pushes his face into Steve's neck. “Yeah... See Doom's sort of a bastard son-of-a-bitch, made the world forget me, and now I can control electronics. Fury won't be happy. But all that dreamy-type stuff you're kind of remembering? Those are events that happened when nobody knew who I was.” He kisses Steve's jaw.

“Tony...” Steve says softly.

“Steve,” he interrupts quickly. “Let's just... I don't want to talk about it right now.”

Silent for a moment, Steve finally says, “That's fine... that's fine. Will you tell me? Eventually?”

“Eventually,” Tony agrees. “For now... I'm still Tony. Got some weird new abilities. Still love you. My arc reactor's gone. Think it's been absorbed into me, still processing that one, don't know what to think about it, but I just want everything to go back to normal...”

Steve nods. “I understand. I do. I just...hope you'll share it with me.”

Guilt stabs at him. “I promise, gorgeous,” he says lowly, curling closer to Steve. For right now, Steve is safe. Steve is familiar, and Steve wants him. And if that was all he had before the world proved itself wrong again tomorrow, then he would want this.

“Hey...”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“I remember bits and pieces,” Steve says, hushed.

Tony waits for him to go on.

“You always seemed lonely. Sad and tired.”

He swallows.

Steve pulls back to look Tony in the face. “I love you. Okay? I do. You won't ever be lonely if you've got me.”

Swallowing again, Tony doesn't open his mouth for fear of stupid things falling out. 

“Tony.”

“I got it!” he says, rougher than he means. Sighing, Tony traces Steve's cheek lightly. It's strange not to have his face lit blue in the darkness. “I know, Steve. I know you'll be here. You...” His mouth closes around the confession.

“What?” Steve tips his head forward to press their foreheads together. “Tell me.”

“You were what kept me going. Through it all.” He can feel Steve's smile through his fingers.

“I love you, Tony. You know that, right?”

“Of course, Steve,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. 

“Nothing about that has changed. It's only made me love you more, you know.”

Lips twitching upwards, Tony throws an arm around Steve, slotting them together, kissing his lips until he needed air. “Love you.”

“Sleep well,” Steve says softly. “I'll be here when you wake.”

Taking that to heart, Tony lets his breathing even out and drifts off, safe in Steve's arms. Everything else? He'll deal with it as it comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who read!  
> Also, I had a complete blast watching you guys try and figure this out; how everything worked. Of course, it only worked so well because of Tony-as-third-person-focus. ;) Unreliable narrator! (English major glee over here...)   
> Anyway. :) Good on you, you smart cookies who theorised correctly!   
> Thanks again. Comments are the fire to my muse.


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